Nature Versus Nurture 3: Project Scorpion
by The Master Planner
Summary: Octavia Jones is no longer uniquely alone, she has discovered another clone. But handsome Mack might have sinister intentions up his sleeve, and the government is far from through with them. This story concludes the NVN series.
1. Alone No Longer

Nature Versus Nurture 3: Project Scorpion

Octavia Jones is no longer alone; she has discovered another clone. But handsome Mack might have sinister intentions up his sleeve, and the government is far from through with them. This story concludes the NVN series.

Foreword

"_In my heart _

_There is a vigil, and these eyes but close_

_To look within; and yet I live, and bear _

_The aspect and the form of breathing men._

_But grief should be the instructor of the wise;_

_Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most_

_Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,_

_The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life._

_Philosophy and science, and the springs _

_Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,_

_I have essayed, and in my mind there is _

_A power to make these subject to itself—_

_But they avail not: I have done men good,_

_And I have met with good even among men—_

_But this availed not: I have had my foes,_

_And none have baffled, many fallen before me—_

_But this availed not—Good, or evil, life,_

_Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,_

_Have been to me as rain unto the sands,_

_Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,_

_And feel the curse to have no natural fear,_

_Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,_

_Or lurking love of something on the earth."_

Lord Byron, ­_Manfred_

_The following is a copy of a United States Central Intelligence Agency memo, retrieved at great risk._

**Memorandum **

**Security Level: Top Secret-Highly Classified. Authorized Persons Only.**

**To: **All persons cleared for work on below-named National Security Scientific Project.

**CC:** Vice President Richard Cheney; Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld; Colonel Nicholas Fury of SHIELD; Agent Cindy Cypher of CIA; Dr. Edward Bowman of SDSI

**From: **Director Theodore Rockefeller of the SDSI-CIA

**Date:** October 3, 20—

**Re:** Projects Octopus and Scorpion, Operation Apollo; Status Report

**Status of Project Octopus:** In progress. Subject, the clone called "Octavia Jones," approximately 15 years of age, is still living in the residence of Anthony Nicholas in the Venice suburb of New York City. Subject has apparently recovered from unforeseen genetic mutations (nature unknown). As two previous attempts to capture the subject have failed by a near-catastrophic magnitude, I propose that we change our general plan. Our intentions may be realized without having to even take the subject from its home.

**Status of Project Scorpion:** In progress. Subject, the clone called "Macendale Jackson," has been located in the Venice, NY area. Subject will play an integral part in the general plan, but the slightest miscalculation will likely mean disaster.

**Status of Operation Apollo:** Failed. The subject, Dr. Otto Octavius, appeared to have escaped alive during a minor scuffle between the subject and Agent Cypher in downtown Manhattan. The cause of the failure was determined to be the interference of the costumed vigilante Spider-Man and another super-criminal. Agent Cypher has been advised that bringing in outside sources may compromise further missions and put her job clearance in jeopardy. The motives of the second super-criminal involved, the "Green Goblin," are yet to be discovered. Questioning Agent Carlyle about his possible intrusion into the Projects is, of course, presently a moot point.

Chapter 1: Alone No Longer

"_Seems I'm not alone in being alone." _The Police, "Message in a Bottle"

Jordan Nicholas stepped into the guest room in a blue bathrobe and blue bunny slippers. She yawned. "Come on, Octavia. Enough's enough. You gotta get to bed."

"For what? Tomorrow's Saturday. I'll sleep in." Octavia Jones was leaning on the desk, madly typing on a computer.

"Come on. I know it's the weekend, but four in the morning is enough already."

"I have to find him. I thought I could google him, but nothing. There's nothing."

Jordan's eyes lit up. "If you find out where he went after my dad nearly ran over him, let me know…"

"Not _him_, chowder-head! Mack Jackson."

"Mack _who_—?"

"I met this hot guy on that museum field trip, and…"

"Ah! You have a _crush_!" Jordan laughed.

"Not a crush, Jordan. I think he's another clone."

Jordan shook her head. "You've been hanging around my dad too much," she said serenely. "He says the Illuminati created you as part of a master race of super-soldiers to take over the world. You shouldn't take him so seriously."

"Jordan, the dude has a mark on his shoulder."

"Just because a guy has an octopus on their right shoulder doesn't make him your long-lost brother. if he's got four robot tentacles on his back, _then_ we'll talk."

"It isn't an octopus, Jordan. It's a scorpion."

"So he's got a tattoo on his shoulder. Doesn't mean they're cloning supervillains off the assembly line. Go to bed."

Octavia's eyes widened. "Jordan, you're a genius!"

"No way, man. _You're_ the genius—"

"I have to find Dr. Nancy Melitta."

"Nancy _who_—?"

"The geneticist who was working under Dr. Grace Morrison, the psychologist."

"Grace _who_—?"

"Don't you remember what I told you about when I first got these at twelve years old?"

"Ohh," Jordan nodded. "But you killed Grace Morrison."

"Not me," Octavia corrected. "They did." She indicated the coiled metal tentacles, trimmed in metallic magenta with pink lights at the center of tri-symmetrical pincers. "But when I woke up in the hospital two years ago, I briefly talked with Melitta. I think they sent her to prison."

"Google her name in," Jordan suggested.

Octavia obliged, then peered at the screen. "Apparently, she found a new job at Oscorp Industries."

"Great. Now you can e-mail her and ask her to meet ya for lunch somewhere to talk. And now you can shut that down and go to bed."

Life had taken a heavy toll on Octavia Mary Jones. At barely fifteen years old, she was still searching for an identity of her own. It was entirely possible that the search was futile and doomed to fail—she was the clone of a super-villain, forcibly gifted and cursed at twelve with the four mechanical arms that were the super-villain's hallmark.

She had met her biological genetic template, the closest thing she had to family—and come away from her experience disillusioned. He had taken her hostage while trying to build a radiation ray he could use to take over the world, and Octavia sensed he hadn't given a rat's ass about her. He had even told her that in so many words once. Octavia could still hear her "father's" words ringing in her head: _You are just a hostage. You are my means of preventing the police and that accursed arachnid aberration from seriously injuring me._ However, he had tried to save her life before getting attacked by another super-villain and getting run over by a car shortly afterwards. Octavia had to admit that Doc Ock had good intentions; but as everyone knew, the road to hell was paved with _those_.

It is not the place of man to create life; Octavia was an abomination, the result of when man tried to play God. Since scientists had, until her, completely failed to produce a living, full-term—let alone healthy—human clone, Octavia's body was afflicted by several genetic abnormalities. In the captivity of her "father," she had come dangerously close to death until Agent Clark Carlyle—whose role in Octavia's life shall be explained later—had her injected with a formula which would allow her body to heal the damage.

Octavia dashed off an email to Dr. Melitta after finding the "Contact" link on her Employee of the Month profile.

"Dear Dr. Melitta:

My name is Octavia Jones. You may not remember me, but I remember you. I believe we first met a little more than two years ago. Please meet me at the Daily Grind Café in Manhattan to talk about old times."

"What?" Jordan looked over the letter. "You make it sound like you're writing to an old middle-school pal or something."

"Don't you know that people in the government could intercept e-mails?" Octavia was suddenly struck by what she just said. "Gee, Jordan, I really _am_ around your father too much. Oh well." She pushed the Send button.

After sending the letter, Octavia went to bed, and for the first time in three years, her sleep was untroubled by nightmares.


	2. What Nancy Said

Chapter 2: What Nancy Said

"We ought not to be talking," Dr. Nancy Melitta whispered over a cup of café latte. "You are the subject of an experiment I'd rather forget my participation in."

"There are things I need to know about me, Nancy, and you're the only one who can help me." Octavia paused over her mocha. "Two years ago, when I was in the hospital, you said you wanted to help me. Do you still?"

"You want to know why you were created? You know the psychology experiment was just a front."

Octavia knew that, but she didn't tell that to Nancy. "If that's where you want to begin."

"The more right-wing elements in politics have long been seeking to institute a _Pax Americana_—a worldwide empire controlled by corporate conglomerates. There are also certain elements that control world affairs behind the scenes. All politicians in Washington, whether President or Congressman, Democrat or Republican, defer to them more or less, and the media look the other way. Any halfwit can tell you there hadn't been nukes in Iraq for a long time. They just wanted to control the oil."

"Those certain elements—are they the Illuminati?"

"You've been listening to that conspiracy nut Nicholas too much. Don't worry how they know about him."

"Does he really have a tracking chip in his ass?"

"Maybe, but that's not how we know. He has his own blog website, don't you know? He calls it 'The Conspiracy Watchdog'. You ought to see it sometime. He mentions you on there, but not by name, of course. There _was_ a group called the Illuminati in Europe, but it died out in the 1890's. It only exists in certain Dan Brown novels. But next time you see Mr. Nicholas, ask him about Bilderberg, Trilateral, and the Council on Foreign Relations."

"Back to the experiment," Octavia prodded.

"Yes, back to the experiment. Certain people behind the scenes—doesn't matter at this point what you call them—realized the American people would no longer tolerate preemptive wars based on flimsy evidence, like Gulf War II. They knew they needed better equipment or better soldiers—or both.

"The CIA outfits in New York City began studying the work of the British scientists who created the sheep Dolly. They also started observing mutants and other superhumans—and New York certainly had a lot of _those_. One in particular intrigued them the most. He had extraordinary intelligence—he had previously worked as a nuclear physicist—but no genetically based powers. The agents couldn't predict the effect of mutancy on a clone. But he amply made up for what he lacked with technology—specifically four artificially intelligent mechanical arms."

"Doctor Octopus." For the first time, Octavia could speak the name of her father.

"Yes, him. They thought he and his equipment could be highly useful for the so-called war on terror. They also realized that to—fill out—the ranks of the volunteer army, they could use cloning and genetic engineering technology to create powerful super soldiers that could easily be replaced as they were killed.

"We had the NYPD bring him in and collect a blood sample. We followed the Dolly procedure to create an embryo—a much younger twin of Octavius. A clone. A replica."

"Me," Octavia finished. Nancy seemed very calm for someone who had participated in such a travesty. She was a Victor Frankenstein in a skirt.

"Yes. We followed the techniques of ectogenesis to plant the embryo in a carefully developed artificial womb. However, the embryo was, upon further testing, discovered to be flawed from the start. Let me digress to explain.

"You see, the Y sex chromosome is the weakest chromosome in the human body. It has less than half the genetic material of the X chromosome. Genetically speaking, the _men_ are the weaker sex. Males are so much more vulnerable to heritable diseases—hemophilia being the most well-known example."

"Hemophilia is carried on the X chromosome. A female receives two of those, so one of those will most likely be normal if the other's not, so she'll be a carrier but healthy. A male gets only one X chromosome, so if it's flawed, he'll be a bleeder."

"That's right, Octavia. The Y chromosome is the weak link on the DNA chain, consisting of little more than the blueprints for the male sex organs, the secondary sex characteristics—broader shoulders, stronger muscles and bones, narrower hips—and hormones. When we tested the embryo's genetic material, the SRY part of the chromosome was flawed. We were afraid the embryo would die, but it developed as an otherwise perfectly healthy _female_. It had female primary characteristics, but I could predict it might develop some male secondary characteristics later on. We all let out a sigh of relief.

"Another SDSI outfit began working on those famous arms, leafing through the accounts in the comic books. Building the tentacles was easy for scientists who had reversed-engineered extraterrestrial vehicles to create stealth bombers. Mechanically, it was only a question of how big, fast, and strong they would be. I warned them that the human body isn't even wired for extra limbs. How would the clone control them? There had to be computer scientists writing artificial intelligence programs to assist the signals from its brain and manufacturing molecular-sized computer chips to serve as artificial nerve synapses. I had the biology department creating neural stem cells. The chemical signals that nerves use to communicate with each other had to be emulated. When that was finally done, we grafted the embryo's spinal cord onto a computer interface capable of providing sensory feedback to the developing nerve cells.

"When the fetus was nine months of age—full term for a normal baby, we knew that we would still have to complete the experiment when it first reached puberty. Some of the scientists wanted to raise and train it in the lab from early childhood. Drs. Grace Morrison and Edward Bowman, the psychologists, disagreed. They argued that they could use the famous "nature versus nurture" question to justify the experiment to a heavily Religious Right Congress and President. After consulting FBI profilers, we found out that the template had had a less than ideal childhood. Both of his parents were most likely first- or second- generation immigrants. His father was a manual laborer who would have preferred a more 'macho' son. His mother was most likely from a culture with strong matriarchal roles, most likely Greek or Jewish, and coddled and overprotected her son to a fault. With her endless praise, he grew up believing he was 'special' and developed an arrogance that quickly turned away his peers. We then decided to give the fetus up for adoption to a stable, all-American-looking, white bread, middle-class family. The nature element, of course, was the same as the template. The nurture element would be as different from the template's as day from night."

"Did my _'parents'_ know what kind of situation they were getting into?"

"Hell, Octavia," Nancy spat. "They specifically _asked_ for someone like you! They specifically _wanted_ a science genius for a kid! They got what they wanted, and _then_ some! They got the clone of the most brilliant nuclear physicist to walk—or tentacle-crawl—the earth! Of _course_ they _knew_!" Nancy then continued with her narrative.

"We then decided that we needed to mark the fetus so we could later retrieve it from its family at puberty. Dr. Morrison decided a small tattoo on the shoulder blade would be perfect—not so unusual to be noticeable, easily covered under clothes, but just different enough to clearly know our own work when we ran into it. Of course, she thought it supremely appropriate to make the identifying mark the template's namesake. We found a married couple—a lawyer and a homemaker—to adopt you. After warning them to keep the kid away from Marvel comic books, the first part of the experiment was completed. All that remained was to retrieve the clone at puberty and put the tentacles on."

Octavia looked at the scientist with growing horror. "You created me—as part of a _master race_!"

"I didn't know this all in the beginning. You mustn't blame me! I only had _part_ of the picture!"

Octavia realized something else. "And another thing—you were always talking about a _clone_, a _replica_, a _fetus_, an _embryo_. You never referred to a _person_, a _baby_."

"You aren't a _person_, technically speaking. A _person_ comes from the sexual reproduction of _two_ people."

"You played God. You created me out of one guy's blood cells. You doomed me from the start. You're right. I'm _not_ a _person_. _People_ have families. Who is Octavius, anyway? My father? My much older identical twin? A female version of himself? Do I even have a _soul_?"

"You are an anomaly, Octavia," Nancy sighed. "Christian doctrine states that since God created man in His image, all people have sentient souls. If you're a good person, your soul goes to Heaven when you die. If you're bad, your soul goes to Hell."

"But since I'm the creation of Man, I don't _have_ a soul, do I?"

"I'm a scientist, not a priest. I can't answer that."

Octavia ignored that. "And if I don't have a soul after all, when I die, I won't even go to Hell. I'll just cease to exist, like an animal."

Nancy chuckled. "You _are_ an animal, Octavia. Do I seriously need to remind you how you murdered two scientists at that scientific convention last year? Or how you murdered a security guard at Oscorp Industries shortly afterward? Or how when you first got your arms, you murdered a cabbie by flinging his taxi through a wall? Or how you attacked a superhero and nearly killed him—twice? Look, I don't even know why I met with you. I was grateful to see how my great experiment turned out, but I am not in the habit of engaging in extended conversations with lab rats."

A tentacle shot out and grabbed her by the throat. "Can a lab rat do _this_?"

Nancy choked out her next words. "All that stuff I said about you being an animal? You're proving me right."

Octavia's voice was shaking. "Next question. Are there any more clones?"

"There have been rumors—"

"Yes or no!" The tentacle threatened to wrap tighter.

"I'm not entirely sure. I was only working on Project Octopus—each scientist knows precious little about what the others are doing. What I told you was the whole jigsaw puzzle. At the time, I only got a few pieces. The engineers working on the tentacles got a few more. Morrison and Bowman got a few more. Only the Director has the whole picture—"

"I _said_ I wanted a yes or no answer!"

"Yes. Now put me down so I can explain."

Nancy was set down with a hard _thump_. She started to rub her throat. "I have talked with one of my colleagues. Henry Griffin—another genetic engineer, like myself—mentioned working on something called Project Scorpion. Actually, we were at dinner together and he said, "Too bad they don't have you working on something _exciting_, like cloning supervillains."

"Project Scorpion was _another_ supervillain cloning experiment? Does the name Macendale Jackson mean anything to you?"

Nancy sighed. "I'll give you the address of Dr. Griffin. He was my counterpart on Project Scorpion while I was working on Project Octopus. Just—leave me alone and don't talk to me again."

Octavia chugged down the rest of her grande mocha and rose to get up.

"Oh, Octavia?"

"Yes?" Her teeth were gritted.

"Carlyle's dead."

"What?"

"He was remorseful about what he did for Project Octopus. He alone contacted Norman Osborn. He alone had you injected with the Oz formula. It was he alone who saved your life."

"How did he die—?"

"It wasn't an accident, and it certainly wasn't natural causes. Goodbye, Octavia, and thank you."


	3. What Happened With Jordan

Chapter 3: What Happened With Jordan

When Octavia got home, Jordan was waiting for her at the computer. "Yeah, I checked out the Daily Bugle archives. There _is_ a supervillain called the Scorpion. Not exactly brainy, but his powers include superhuman strength and endurance. But we'll talk later. Right now, I want you to meet someone." A handsome, slender boy with long blonde hair stepped into the guest room.

"You told me how that thing with David Rose fell through, but he was too old for you, anyway. Octavia Jones, this is my twin brother, Morgan. Morgan Nicholas, this is my best friend Octavia." Jordan turned to Octavia. "He's on visitation for a few days. Mom and Dad's divorce was a little less than amicable. Dad got sole custody of me, but I have to visit Mom sometimes. Mom has sole custody of my twin brother."

"You guys are _twins_?" Octavia asked.

"Sure—fraternal twins. A dizygotic twin is the fancy technical term."

"I can _see_ you're not identical—monozygotic."

"My pal Octavia is a science genius," Jordan told her brother.

"Isn't Morgan a _girl's_ name?" Octavia stifled a snicker.

"Hey man, don't make fun of my name," Morgan groaned.

"For two generations of Breedloves," Jordan explained, "boys have been named after their mothers' favorite actors. There's my uncle, James Dean Breedlove, my brother, Morgan Freeman Nicholas—"

"And most assuredly Jordan will continue the proud tradition with her future son, Alfred—"

"Shut _up_!" Jordan playfully punched Morgan in the arm.

"Has Dad added to his blog lately?" Morgan asked. "Mom never lets me on there." He pushed his way to the computer and typed in the URL. "I mean, just because he's a conspiracy buff with his weird pet theories—"

"What are his pet theories, Jordan?" Octavia asked.

"Oh, just the usual—that the Illuminati are running the world, that the FBI killed Marilyn Monroe because she was preggers with John Kennedy's kid, that Jesus had a wife and kids and the Vatican's covering it all up, that the Illuminati orchestrated September 11th as an excuse to invade the Middle East…"

"And his newest pet theory—that the Illuminati are building a set of cloned super soldiers to take over the world," completed Morgan, scrolling with the mouse. "He even said he _knows_ one and _talked_ with her—"

Octavia shot Jordan a look that clearly said: _Jordan, do something, fast!_

"Uh, I'm afraid that Dad's finally gone off the deep end there," Jordan said quickly. "Do you know any cloned super soldiers, Ock?"

"Nope, of course not," she said.

"Neither do I," said Jordan. "Maybe Mom banned you from Dad's website for a reason."

Morgan peered out the window. "Whoa, there's my mom's car. I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Octavia."

Jordan was panting. "God _damn_, that was close. I need to tell my dad to quit writing about you on his blog. Dad!"

Anthony Nicholas was typing away on his laptop. "Yes, honey?"

"Are you writing about Octavia on your Conspiracy Watchdog Blog?"

Anthony looked defensive. "Yeah, but I never mention her name or that of her template. I think the public is entitled to the _truth_—"

"Sure it's the truth, but you're putting Octavia in danger and everyone else thinks you're a crackpot!"

"I only put it in the most general terms. Besides, if everyone thinks I'm a crackpot, the Illuminati won't see me as a threat to their master plan. Oh look, I have mail! Let me get a sandwich first."

Jordan peered at the screen. The webpage was entitled "Do Supersoldier Clones Walk Among Us?"

"My dear God," Jordan mumbled. "He's got a whole list on how to tell if your friend is a super soldier."

Octavia read off the list of characteristics. "'Number One: A super soldier clone (SSC for short), by definition, is inhumanly strong, fast, and healthy. If your friend is a superstar athlete and looks like a gym rat but sits on the couch and watches TV in his spare time, check the other items on the list.

'Number Two: An SSC may have robotic parts. He or she may insist on wearing trench coats even in warmer weather to hide them. Of course, the SSC wants to hide his or her powers, so they'll never let you see them without the coat.

'Number Three: An SSC's eyes are extraordinarily sensitive and sharp, which is why they might insist on wearing sunglasses. Also, sunglasses hide the nearly unnoticeable but telltale bionic enhancers.' Bionic enhancers?" Octavia laughed. "I don't have those in my eyes! I just wear shades because they look cool! And they're prescription. I'm nearsighted."

Jordan laughed too. "See, he's a crackpot even when he knows half the truth! Read some more. I need a good joke."

"'Number Four,'" Octavia continued, "'An SSC is extraordinarily intelligent. They have to be to hide their powers from others and strategize for the Illuminati's secret war. An SSC might be as smart as a nuclear physicist and never study.'" She paused. "Not mentioning my template, is he?

"'Number Five: Shuns comic books and superhero movies. An SSC may be cloned from a superhero or a supervillain; therefore, they are programmed not to go near comic books lest they start to notice the similarities. Remember, they don't even know their origins until they are activated for the secret war.'"

"Gee, and I thought you didn't want to get near comic books because you were just sick of hearing about me and—"

"That's why!"

"I was just being sarcastic," smiled Jordan. "Read off the next one."

"'Number Six: An SSC definitely has some kind of identifying mark on his or her right shoulder blade. This is so that the Illuminati can retrieve them for training.

"'Number Seven: An SSC is usually given up for adoption in infancy. The Illuminati want their clones to be raised in a stable family, which is very carefully picked. Watch out if your friend can't find information about his or her "birth parents" and his or her adopted family looks a bit too much like Beaver Cleaver's.

"'Number Eight: If your friend has most or all of these characteristics, and there are strange secret agent looking men following him or her around, your friend is definitely an SSC and definitely in danger of being captured to carry out the Master Plan! Protect your friend at all costs, because their origins aren't their fault! Then email me at—'"

Anthony came back with a ham sandwich. "See? I'm just telling the painfully obvious! Nothing that a science fiction fan couldn't come up with. Ah, where's my mail? Jordan, Octavia, could you cover your eyes with your hands while I put the password in?" He typed in a few keystrokes. "Okay, you can uncover your eyes now. Spam, spam, spam, spam, John Birch Society, save that, spam, spam, message board notification, and three questions!"

"What are they?"

Anthony was happy to see that his beloved daughter might finally be taking interest in his noble work. "Dear Watchdog: You wrote on your blog that the Yale Skull and Bones Society might be an outpost/training ground for the Illuminati. The President was a member of that and his father has mentioned making a New World Order before. Do you think he's an Illuminatus invading the Middle East for his own ends?"

Anthony dashed off a reply: "Oh yes! Most definitely!" Then he opened the next message.

"Dear Watchdog: Who are your sources for your recent posts about the SSC's?"

Jordan interrupted him. "Are you going to answer that!"

Anthony laughed. "I like to think I can tell the difference between a true believer and who an Illuminatus is. But I'd better be safe."

"Dear Reader: Like I said in the post, it's an SSC who has renounced the Master Plan and seeks to warn us of danger. Can't tell you more than that."

"Dear Watchdog: I think my ex-boyfriend is an SSC. I stumbled upon your blog while researching Marilyn Monroe and came upon your list. I was very interested because between you and me I'm starting to think Mack might not be one of us." Anthony rubbed his hands. "Ooh, tell me more, tell me more!" Octavia crowded even closer to the screen while Anthony continued to read.

"One, he was the star football player at my high school. He'd knock over players twice his size and he always skipped practice to watch _Lost_ reruns and eat Cheetos. He also saved my life when we were walking across the street and a taxi nearly run me over and he stopped the car with his bare hands. I swear that taxi is still driving around with two big handprints on the bumper. Two, his adopted mom won't let him read Spider-Man comics and won't tell him anything about his birth mom. And she really does look just like June Cleaver. Three, he's got a little scorpion tattoo on his right shoulder and he doesn't know how he got it. Four, he had to move away cause his mom said that creepy guys were following him around and taking pictures. I really miss him and I'm afraid for him and I didn't know who to talk about it with. Could you help? I think he went to New York City so he might be near you. Sincerely, Melissa."

Octavia gasped. "_Mack Jackson?_"

Anthony looked at her. "Do you know this guy?"


	4. What Happened At School

(looks around) Come _on_, where is everyone? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother, but then my Muse visits me in a dream and tells me why. Remember, whether old or new, read and review! Questions, comments, compliments, (constructive) criticism...bring it on! Tell your friends! Bookmark my profile!

Chapter 4: What Happened At School

_Octavia Jones was standing on top of a speeding subway train. She didn't know how she got there, and the speed of the train was such that she almost stumbled until the pincer of one lower tentacle sank down and steadied her._

_She looked up. Standing in front of her, swaying with superb balance, was a tall, slender but muscular man in a garish red and blue suit accented with a black webbing pattern. Her archenemy._

I need to get him off my heels_, Octavia thought_. Fighting him is only going to waste time—time better spent rebuilding my experiment.

_A sudden idea came to her. One of Octavia's tentacles snaked down to the engineer's compartment. _

_Yes! I'll sabotage the brakes. The bug will be forced to divert his attention to saving the civilians. After he is exhausted from stopping the train, I can defeat him easily. After I haul him off, that jellyfish Osborn Junior will have to keep his end of the bargain. The tritium is all I need…  
_

_The tentacles understood exactly what she wanted to do. What she _had_ to do to prove herself as a scientist. To prove to herself and everyone else she wasn't a failure…_

_She threw the engineer out the window. Her tentacle, her child, ripped the control panel out. She faced her archenemy._

_She smiled._

"_I believe you've got a train to catch…"_

"Another nightmare, Octavia?"

She sat up in bed. Jordan was standing there with a glass of milk. "The same one."

"The train one? Same one you had since after you were kidnapped by—"

"Yeah. The same one."

"At least you know what it means." Jordan yawned. "In all the stories I've read about clones, a clone has all the original's memories."

Octavia was cross. "I don't exactly have his memories."

"The hell you don't," Jordan said placidly. "You're remembering his battles—unconsciously. Your conscious mind blocks all those memories out, but then you bring them up in your dreams."

"I'd feel much more comfortable if you said it was a metaphor."

"Okay, it's a metaphor. Now go back to sleep."

Just before she went back to sleep, Octavia noticed a strange sensation in her muscles. They felt rather tingly, but otherwise it was not unpleasant. Blocking the sensations out, she went back to sleep.

The alarm clock sounded off with a loud _beep_. "Octavia! School time!"

"Shit. Is it Monday already?"

"Yep."

Octavia shuffled off to the bathroom, clothes, toothbrush, and hairbrush in hand. She ran off after getting dressed. "Jordan, do you notice anything _different_?"

"Your shirt is a little tighter around the shoulders, arms, and back, you look a little more buff, but nothing I'd worry about. You've been working out—and you're cloned from a guy, remember?"

Octavia thought nothing more of it…until lunch that day. Octavia sat with Jordan and Daisy Gatsby as usual, chugging down her small carton of milk.

"Dude," Daisy piped up, "that's the _fifth_ milk carton you've taken so far."

Octavia paused the chugging. "That's because I swear they put Habanero peppers in the mystery meat chili."

Daisy cautiously took a nibble of her mystery meat chili. "It's not _that_ spicy."

"I think your appetite's just gone through the roof," Jordan added. "I mean, how else can I explain you getting up at six o'clock—to cook yourself an _eight_-egg omelet?"

Octavia was cross. "I'm a growing girl. And it was _seven_ eggs."

"I'm jealous," said Daisy. "I gain weight just listening to dinner music. And Octavia's probably cleaning out Jordan's refrigerator and she doesn't gain an ounce."

"I'm getting some more milk." Octavia rose from the table.

The lunch lady shouted up at Octavia. "No! Whaddya think this is, Hometown Buffet!"

Octavia was obliged to trudge to the vending machine. She slipped a dollar bill in. She waited and waited, but the coke didn't come out.

This sort of thing happened every second or third time someone used the machine. All one had to do was whack the machine very firmly with a closed fist in a certain spot, and the can of coke popped out. Every student at Shylock High School knew that.

So when Octavia's coke didn't come out the chute, that is exactly what she did, same as before. Maybe Octavia was still smarting over Nancy Melitta dismissing her as her lab rat. Maybe she was still frustrated over Anthony putting her secret origins out all over the internet for every nutcase to read. Maybe she just didn't realize what had happened to her last night. At any rate, whatever the reason, Octavia hit the machine a little harder than usual.

Everyone in the cafeteria heard what happened next.

_Ka-pow!_

The noise was like an explosion, echoing through the cafeteria. Some kids hit the floor, hiding under tables, thinking that another Columbine was coming. They thought the sound was a gunshot, or a wall caving in.

It was neither. The sound, of course, was that of Octavia's fist going straight through the vending machine!


	5. Octavia's New Powers

If you have read NVN2, then you know all about the source of Octavia's new powers; I've given you over a week to figure it out...

Chapter 5: Octavia's New Powers

Octavia first looked at her hands, then looked at the vending machine. What she saw was such a shock it took her a moment to realize what had happened, and another moment to make sure it was her _fist_, and not her _tentacle_. The noise when she had shattered the vending machine was sickening!

She shuddered.

A bunch of kids were gathering around, but none of them were coming too close. Nobody—not even Heather Cannes, the Queen Bee, and her cronies—dared mock her now.

"Did you see that?" Octavia heard someone murmur in a strangled voice.

"Oh my freaking Lord, what is _happening_ to you, girl?" This voice was Daisy's.

"Lady Octopus is in big trouble now!" laughed a cheerleader's voice.

A substitute teacher who had been in the cafeteria, Mr. Brabantio, was not laughing. He marched over to Octavia and grabbed her by the arm. He gasped as he realized his fingers were curled around a bicep as hard as steel. "Come with me, young lady," he ordered. He escorted Octavia, very gently and carefully—if she could do _that_ to an aluminum vending machine, she could probably break him in two with her bare hands if he pissed her off—to Dr. Jaclyn Hyde's office.

"Mr. Brabantio—Octavia—what are you here for?"

"She—s-s-she—"

"Robert!" Dr. Hyde called the teacher by his first name. "You are as white as a sheet, in a cold sweat, and your knees are knocking! Have you seen a ghost?"

"W-w-worse! S-s-she—I can't put it in words! Just look at what she did to the vending machine in the cafeteria!"

Jaclyn Hyde sighed. The worst thing she could think of to get such a reaction from Robert Brabantio was that Octavia had dropped a stink bomb in the machine and the whole cafeteria smelled like rotten eggs. She pulled her turtleneck collar up to cover her nose and followed the two others back to the cafeteria. The kids were still crowded there, well past the fifth period bell.

"You don't have to bother with your collar, it's not a stink bomb," Jordan said. Jaclyn cautiously peered at the wreck of what was once a vending machine. The principal then shouted, "Everyone, quit rubbernecking and get back to your classes now! The only ones who need to stay are Jordan Nicholas, Daisy Gatsby, and Octavia Jones!" Her voice became quiet and still. "Octavia—did you do that with those tentacles of yours?"

Jordan answered the question for her. "No! She hit it with her bare hands! She didn't mean to, though! The machine probably got stuck like it always does and Octavia hit it like everyone else does and broke it without even realizing it!"

"Arnold Schwarzenegger couldn't do that to this machine! It's vandalism-proof! I can't believe that someone could have that kind of inhuman strength and not realize it!"

"I didn't realize it either!" Octavia protested.

"I can understand that you have some superhuman power and I can't hold that against you. But I still have to punish you. You destroyed school property. Octavia, I need you to tell me your home phone number."

"I can't—"

"Jordan, what's your dad's phone number?"

Jordan mumbled the number. Jaclyn dialed the cell phone. "Is this Anthony Nicholas? I need you to come to Shylock High School right away. It's urgent," she added in a grave voice. "I think you can go now, Daisy."

Jordan and Octavia waited outside Dr. Hyde's office for their father to arrive. Half an hour later, he strode through the door, looking very worried. He saw his daughters (he considered Octavia as his own since her adopted parents died) sitting in the chairs. Before he could ask what they were doing there, Dr. Hyde invited him in the office. "You come in too, girls."

Dr. Hyde explained what had happened to the vending machine.

"I know Octavia has extraordinary physical and mental powers, Jaclyn. I also know that she would never use them maliciously. I believe that when Octavia went to get a coke, the coke machine got stuck. Now when I'm in that situation, I whack the machine a couple times and the coke pops right out. I think Octavia did that exact same thing and didn't realize just how hard she was whacking it. I don't think she really meant to break the machine, she just got a little carried away. She just doesn't know how to control her strength."

"I believe that. That's exactly what Jordan said. But steps have to be taken. Octavia has to learn how to control herself."

Jaclyn began to outline what she thought should be done about Octavia.

"First, she may not return to class today. You must take her home. We cannot have her disrupting the other students. Second, starting tomorrow, Octavia will have to serve two-hour detentions every day after school for one school week. Third, you will have to pay to repair the machine that Octavia broke. You might want to consider taking that out of her allowance. Finally, if I hear of any more of these _problems_, Octavia is at risk for suspension."

Anthony stood up to leave. "I'm afraid Jordan is going to have to come with me as well. I'm a single father, and I had to get out of work to meet with you. Jordan will keep an eye on her, though."

Jaclyn groaned. "Fine."

Octavia's eyes were downcast. "I'm in trouble now. I'm sorry."

"Shh. It's okay. What happened wasn't your fault. You just haven't learned how to control your powers yet. And besides," Anthony added with a twinkle in his eye, "it's an excuse to get more alimony from that bitch Melissa."

When they got in the car, Anthony scratched his ass some more. He was really getting into it, sticking his hand and half his forearm in his pants; the computer chip mast have been really bothering him. He cleared his throat and turned to Jordan. "I know about Octavia's robotic arms, but you said that's not what she hit the machine with. You said she punched the machine with her bare hands." He suddenly turned pensive. "Doc Ock doesn't have super-strength."

Octavia shuddered. "The Green Goblin does, though."

"_Who_?" Anthony said.

"Remember when you drove up to save me that time a few months ago? Octavius was fighting with Spider-Man, an SDSI-CIA agent and—"

Anthony remembered. "That dude on the glider, the one with the green suit—"

"I was dying back there because I had flaws in my genetic pattern. The Goblin injected me with a lot of green stuff. It saved my life, but—"

"But it gave you additional superpowers," Jordan finished. "You cut your hand on the steel plate when you punched through the machine, remember?"

"What? Her hand looks perfectly fine. I would have noticed."

"_Exactly_, Dad."


	6. What Happened the Next Day

Chapter 6: What Happened the Next Day

The next day at school, Octavia was surging with energy. She didn't feel tired at all. If she wasn't superhuman, she would have struggled to stay awake—she hadn't fallen asleep until three o'clock in the morning.

All her classmates had heard about Octavia breaking the machine, even if they hadn't seen it. Combined with the stories about Octavia being held hostage a couple months ago, the exploits of the former outcast and her feats of strength were getting more fantastic with each telling—and to Octavia's dismay, it was making her even _less_ popular than she already _was_. Everyone was too frightened of her to even say hello; even Daisy was distant. Only Jordan stood by her friend.

The day was passing so slowly Octavia thought it would never end. It was uncomfortably like being a new kid on the first day of school.

She passed the vending machine getting lunch in the cafeteria. There was a sign taped over the hole, which said, "Out of Order."

It suddenly occurred to Octavia that her whole _life_ was out of order.

The nightmares were coming back.

Her boyfriend, David, had broken up with her.

Her template, Dr. Octavius, only cared for what she could do for him.

Her creator, Dr. Melitta, only saw her as an experiment. A lab rat.

Her guardian, Anthony, was outing her past on his internet blog.

Her friend, Daisy, didn't want anything to do with her.

Everyone else at the school was scared of her.

She was developing new powers, and her strength was quickly increasing to a level that was, frankly, almost frightening. Just to see if she could do it, she'd lifted Anthony's new Buick above her head without using her tentacles. _With one hand_. She'd tripped over the Anthonys' coffee table and watched as the gash on her leg healed completely within thirty seconds.

What was she going to do?

She shuffled off to homeroom. Her teacher was standing in front of the classroom. With her was a handsome, brown-haired boy.

Octavia gasped. She didn't need to see the dark, tattoo-like mark on his shoulder to recognize him. She started to poke Jordan.

"Jordan…it's Mack! The clone of the Scorpion!"

"No way."

"Yes way."

In fourth period, Octavia could barely pay attention in class. Another clone! What would she say to him? Did he know about his origins? Was he aware of why he was created? Did he know that he might not be uniquely alone? Had he ever met his template, as Octavia once had? If he didn't know the answers to any of that, would he believe Octavia if she told him?

"Octavia!" Professor Emilia stared at her. "You're daydreaming in _AP Physics_! This isn't like you?"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I was distracted."

At lunchtime, Octavia was shaking as she sat with Jordan. She caught sight of Daisy as she took a tray of mystery meat stew.

"Daisy, are you going to sit with us?"

Daisy lowered her head. "No, Octavia. I have to study for a history test. I'll be eating in the library."

"That liar!" Jordan snarled. "She's got second period World History, same as I do. There are no history tests coming up for two weeks." She pointed to where Daisy had taken a seat next to some black girls.

"She doesn't want to hang around with me," Octavia said morosely. "She's _scared_ of me. Everyone is."

"I'm not scared. I know better than to be." Jordan changed the subject. "Where's that Mack dude? Are you going to, you know, introduce yourself?"

"What if he doesn't know?"

Jordan rolled her eyes. "What if he's _not_ a clone?"

"He _is_!"

Jordan sighed. "Maybe you _want_ to think he is. Maybe you want to believe that so bad because you don't want to face the fact that you might just be an anomaly."

"Uniquely alone?"

"Right. And if you _are_ right, and he _is_ a clone, he's uniquely alone too. You're a singularity. An anomaly. And he's a completely different singularity or anomaly. Dig?"

"I dig _real_ good, Jordan. Shut up! He's walking over here!"

Jordan swallowed. Mack had walked over to Octavia's table. He then bent over and whispered something into Octavia's ear that proved all she thought about him.

"I know what you are, Octavia Jones. And I know what I am."

"_This is just fascinating. Just fascinating." Agent Cindy Cypher was perusing the files Dr. Nancy Melitta had handed her. The Director was observing. _

"_Do you understand what has happened? Octavia has a few new powers even her template could only dream of! A layman such as yourself, Agent Cypher, has no idea the doors this could open up."_

"_Exactly what powers are we talking about?"_

"_Superhuman physical strength and accelerated healing. I've got to hand it to the field agents working on Project Octopus—we all have the late Clark Carlyle to thank for this development."_

_Cypher had no interest in the tedious scientific aspects of Project Octopus. She was first assigned to Operation Apollo, a mission somewhat more in her field of expertise, and had failed. She had narrowly avoided the fate of Carlyle, but it technically wasn't her fault that Octavius got away._

"_Look, if we could duplicate that Oz formula, our super-soldiers would be much stronger, much faster, heal much quicker! It could save enormous amounts of money. If our soldiers have more endurance, they would last longer. We wouldn't have to keep replacing them."_

"_I could already guess that, Nancy," sneered Cypher. _

"_Look who's bitter, Cindy. You couldn't even shoot a chubby physicist in the head at point-blank range."_

_Cindy retorted with some words that I couldn't even put in print here. Then she said, "We're supposed to be leaving them alone. If the clones called Octavia and Macendale were to have a child together, it would pick up the positive attributes of both parents. Then we could clone the offspring, and—"_

"_Well put, Cypher," agreed the Director. _

"_Oh no. That plan will never work. Just listen to the real scientist here, will you? First off, cloning a clone isn't going to work. It would be degenerate—a copy of a copy. Useless. The clone called Octavia nearly died of cellular disintegration at the advent of puberty. Secondly, Octavia is cloned from a male. She has a Y chromosome. She developed as a female by a quirk of genetics. She's probably sterile. She could no more produce a baby with Macendale than two gay men. I say we just kill her off. She's a failed experiment. Start off with a clean slate."_

"_You think you're going to get funding for another cloning project when you failed at both Projects Octopus and Scorpion?"_

"_Hell yes. And Project Scorpion didn't fail."_

"_I must say I have been persuaded to Nancy's point of view, Cypher. It's unlikely the clone called Octavia will do much to further our objectives."_


	7. Macendale Tells His Story

Chapter 7: Macendale Tells His Story

He also whispered something else into Octavia's ear.

"Meet me at 3:30 at The Daily Grind—and don't bring the friend."

"Oh my God, Octavia, I can't believe you're going off someplace with some strange dude without me! He could be—a CIA agent _posing_ as—"

"Jordan, he's not a CIA agent."

"How do you know? They could've sent an agent out with a mark on his shoulder just to draw you out, man."

"Jordan, don't you think I can _tell_ the difference?"

Jordan threw up another obstacle. "Besides, you're going on a date with Morgan. Your _first_. You should be getting ready."

"My _first_? Does the name David Rose mean anything to you?"

"Sorry, but I don't think a chess game at a university picnic table counts. I mean, fancy restaurant, candlelight dinner date."

"Well, I always whipped his ass at chess. And I was taking science classes there. That's where I met him. Just cancel the date, okay? Postpone it."

"Postpone it! You gotta be _kidding_ me! He's been looking forward to this date ever since I introduced you two! This is my _twin brother_ you're talking about!"

Octavia pulled Jordan up close by the collar. "Don't you want me to find out about my past? Don't you want me to find out who I am and what the CIA was planning for me?"

Jordan averted her head. Octavia had her shirt in an iron-hard grip. "Yeah, yeah. You're the octopus' clone and you have to stop the Illuminati's evil plan and save the world. It's just—I'm torn between my best pal, my dad, and my twin. And I just get tired of playing the Ron Weasley to your Harry Potter. Just go meet up with ole Mack. You'll get back in time for the date."

At the Daily Grind, Macendale slowly revealed what he knew.

"I always knew I was different—ever since puberty."

"What happened?"

"Well, as you might guess, I started to get stronger and faster than anyone in my class. And I started to get a mark on my shoulder. You already saw it at that field trip."

"How did you find out you were a clone?"

"My father was shot—and he left me a letter. They said it was a suicide note. I'm not sure."

"What did the letter say?"

"He was once a scientist in the CIA, a molecular biologist. The last job he did for them was something called Project Scorpion. Evidently, they'd taken blood from a New York City super-villain and cloned a kid out of it. The kid—as in, me—was to be given up for adoption at full term. It was supposed to be a psychology experiment on child rearing. Then he found some files saying stuff about what the CIA was really planning to do with me."

The story was too parallel. "You were to become the ancestor of a master race of super-soldiers to help the United States take over the world."

"Basically. He was cool, he wasn't some Frankenstein, you know. His sense of ethics couldn't permit that sort of thing to go on. As soon as he found those files, he made copies of them, hid them in his coat, and took me out of my tank and brought me home. Then he blew up the lab. He told everyone that the 'clone' died in the explosion."

"You were _raised_ by your creator—"

"He was a good dad, Octavia. He knew they'd figure out the explosion was rigged. He took his wife to Chicago. He had me take my mom's surname, because his would be too obvious. Jackson is my mom's middle name. But then I started to get my powers, and my mark. My father started noticing creepy guys in black suits taking pictures of me at school. They took pictures at our house. My father had us pack up and move to New York City."

"And what happened?" Octavia asked. Stupid question. She knew what was coming next.

"I wanted to go to this party. All the cool kids from my new neighborhood were supposed to attend. Dad told me no, I might get kidnapped. We got in a fight, he grounded me. I ended up sneaking out in the middle of the night while Dad was asleep and Mom was working all night at her law firm so she could make partner.

"I had a really good time but I snuck home early so I wouldn't get caught. One of the first things I saw was my dad sprawled out on the floor with two gunshots to the head and an envelope in his hand."

"Oh my god." Octavia was horrified. Your father was _suicided_?"

Mack shrugged. "I guess that's what you call it. I still feel horrible about it. If I had stayed home like I was _supposed_ to, then I could have used my powers to stop it."

"No, Mack," Octavia said. "It's not your fault. In fact, if you stayed home, they would've killed him later when you were at school or something. They wanted you to be gone when they attacked."

"I opened the letter. It explained everything—including the fact that I wasn't the only clone. One of Dad's colleagues, Dr. Nancy Melitta, was working on another cloning experiment called—"

"Project Octopus."

"Yeah, they started on that after they were informed that Project Scorpion failed. Dad said in the letter that the other clone was a girl. I've been _looking_ for you all my life. Do you know what this _means_? We were _meant_ for each other!"

"No!" Octavia suddenly realized something more horrible than all the other abominations she'd learned about over the past three years. "They planned this all along! They want us to breed…to see what our offspring would be like! They wanted us to mate so we could produce a master race!"

Mack seemed genuinely puzzled. _Mate_, _breed_…Octavia was making it sound like they were two rare pandas in the zoo. "We're not _animals_. We're _human_, and we can fall in love."

"No, Mack, _humans_ are created by God through the sexual reproduction of _two_ people. Even animals produce litters that way." Octavia though a little bit. "Besides, I'm probably sterile. My sex chromosomes were altered. I've got a Y chromosome. Genetically, I'm a guy. Us doing that—_gross_."

Mack shrugged. "Then what can this hurt?" He was leaning closer to Octavia. Octavia, thanks to her new super-strength, could have sent him flying with one hard push if she wanted to. Octavia found herself _not_ wanting to. His lips were on hers, his hands were on her waist, and her tentacles were wrapped around his legs.

And from across the streets, Jordan and Morgan Nicholas were watching. If Octavia had known they were there, she wouldn't have given a rat's ass about it.


	8. A Betrayal of Sorts

Chapter 8: A Betrayal of Sorts

When Octavia came home, Jordan was waiting for her, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. "Ah yes, I saw it, if you didn't already know."

"What?" Octavia asked.

"Oh, come on! If you were going any farther up each other, you would have been arrested!"

"What! We're fellow clones! Of _course_ we were being friendly! What do you expect—"

"Excuse me, but you weren't exactly acting like brother and sister when he was shoving his tongue down your throat. Oh, and Morgan canceled the date."

Octavia hung her head. Now _Jordan_ was pissed at her. Then again, she couldn't say she didn't deserve it.

"_Are you saying I need help doing what I do best?" Cypher was enraged. _

"_If Operation Apollo was an example of your best, I feel sorry for you." Nancy spat. _

"_Careful, Doctor." the Director said. "It's my job to say those things to the agents. All you have to worry about is the technical necessities. And Cypher, I'm afraid Nancy's right. We sent you in for one very simple mission, which you managed to fail spectacularly. Doctor, what is the means that you propose?"_

"_You know what they picked up from Roswell, New Mexico, way back in 1947?"_

"_I know what's in Area 51, Nancy. Even if hardly anyone else does. The Air Force picked up a flying saucer and three extraterrestrial entities. They put up a struggle."_

"_I just got word from Groom Lake, Director. They picked up something else off the saucer. It was clinging to the hull. They thought of it as waste or space debris, but it's more. Much more. I had it sent here so I could study it. This is gonna blow your mind."_

"_Couldn't they have studied—whatever it was—there?" Cypher asked. _

"_I don't think they could keep a lab as large, powerful, and sophisticated as ours secret for long. Besides, they thought it was useless. In 1947, they didn't even have the equipment to handle it."_

"_Cut the crap and show us your Roswell miracle." _

_They were in Nancy's lab; she escorted them to a table and pointed at what was sitting on it. _

"_What! Some black glop in a jar is your eighth wonder of the world?"_

_Nancy sighed. "Appearances are deceitful, Cindy. I wouldn't call it another form of space creature, but it seems to work like living armor. It's pliable but impervious. It can also turn itself invisible, or shape-shift. It seems to be a little sensitive to strong sonic vibrations and fire, though. Do you want to be my first test case?"_

When Anthony found her, Octavia was sullenly munching leftover chicken at the table. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not telling you unless you promise not to put it on your blog."

"Okay. Some things just shouldn't come out, I know."

"There's another clone."

"I know, Octavia. Didn't you watch me read that e-mail?"

"Yes, but he's in love with me."

Anthony sighed. "That's a very bad idea, Octavia. If what you told me is true, then they're planning to use you to breed a master race…with the other clone."

"So you think I should go with Morgan?"

"He's a good kid, Octavia, and I think you hurt him. And Jordan. You know how close twins can be."

Octavia wasn't sure why Anthony thought she would know about twins. "Anthony…did you ever get the feeling where you know the shit is gonna hit the fan?"

"Sure. Every single time my tracking chip goes off." Anthony shoved his hand down his pants and once again started scratching his butt. Octavia sighed and left the room, throwing the chicken bones in the trash on the way out.

_Nancy's Roswell black goo slowly expanded and spread over the body of Agent Cypher, who was clad only in underwear. The Director, ever conscious of possible lawsuits, had temporarily left the room. _

"_It's okay, Director," Nancy said. "She's covered now. How do you feel, Cindy?" _

"_Better. Stronger." _

"_You already know what to do, Cindy," said the Director. "Don't fail me again."_


	9. The Darkest Shadow

Chapter 9: The Darkest Shadow 

"_Thou changed and self-covered thing, for shame,_

_Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness_

_To let these hands obey my blood,_

_They are apt to dislocate and tear _

_Thy flesh and bones: however thou art a fiend,_

_A woman's shape doth shield thee."_

William Shakespeare, _King Lear_

A silent figure stalked in the shadows of Manhattan, becoming one of the shadows. When she had to see the light of day, the shadow receded with a mental flick of the will, disguising itself as an elegant black business suit.

"_Agent Cypher, do you read me?"_

"_I hear you, Director," she told her vehicle's computer interface. _

"_Do you remember what your objectives are?"_

"_Of course I do."_

"_Good, because if you fail this time, you might be handed a fate worse than that of Carlyle."_

"_Is that a threat?" Cypher hissed. She was feeling bolder, more aggressive._

"_No, Cypher, it's a promise. I don't suffer fools lightly. Our national security is at stake. The War on Terror is at stake. Get in, get what you need, and get out. Do what ever it takes to get it, Melitta needs it badly."_

"_Yes…"_

"_And don't kill him, for God's sake. He's a very well-known and respected figure in this city. If he's murdered, they'll notice. There are some things even we can't cover up."_

_Cypher drove to the Upper East Side, and Inverness, the Osborn penthouse, was her destination._

"Hello, Mr. Osborn," Agent Cypher greeted the off-duty supervillain.

If Norman was scared at the quite unexpected entrance, he didn't show it. "Who the hell are _you_? And _how_ did you get in here without setting off the security system?"

Cypher smiled and held up her identification. "I'm Agent Cindy Cypher of the SDSI-CIA. Stands for _S_ubdivisionof_ S_cientific _I_ntelligenceof the_ C_entral_ I_ntelligence_ A_gency.Agent Clark Carlyle once numbered among my colleagues. I trust you were acquainted with _him_."

Norman sneered and carefully set his baby granddaughter on the sofa. "Yes. He told me all about his little 'Project Octopus' super-soldier and his attempts to improve on it. The latest advances in human biology, sold to the highest bidder for taxpayer dollars. Did you ever catch the fat freak?"

"Nope. He crawled back into his little underwater den, apparently."

"And the clone? Just curious."

"She got away too. But our scientists say she's useless for reproduction. We need a whole army of them. We have the blueprints for the tentacles, obviously. However, we never were able to duplicate the Oz formula."

"A feat my dear departed Harry never managed either." By the tone of his voice, Harry, whoever _he_ was, was not dear at all.

"Let's cut the crap. We want the formula itself. The exact chemical formula. I'm offering one million dollars in uncirculated cash for it."

Norman chuckled. "The formula's not for sale, my dear Cypher."

Cypher took a step towards him. "The formula. Now. Do you realize that I'm an agent of the United States government and that our experiments go to further the War on Terror? Your resistance might be construed as treason."

"Treason? I'm the living embodiment of the capitalist American Dream. I repeat: The Oz formula is not for sale. If you try to intimidate it out of me—well, I am well-versed in the arts of self-defense. I _can_ fight you back."

Cypher raised her eyebrows. "Very well. You've forced my hand."

Norman gasped; Cypher's black business suit started to shimmer, melt, spread across her body. Quicker than lightning, the shadow stepped toward him, grabbed his throat with one taloned hand, and punched him in the stomach. The businessman cried out in pain. He hadn't been hit _that_ hard in his entire life—not even by Spider-Man himself, not even after he had murdered Parker's little blonde girlfriend in the guise of the Green Goblin.

_To hell with this_, Norman thought. He was going to have to use his own powers if he was going to get out alive. Cypher was hit with a right hook powerful enough to kill an ordinary human, but she didn't even catch her breath.

"I see you've enhanced your own strength," she observed. "Only the most intrepid—or crazy—scientists would think of testing their formulas on themselves."

Norman was starting to show his age—which was, around late forties, comparable to his fellow super-criminal and chief competition, the fat freak. Even with his superhuman strength and endurance, Cypher was coming on too fast and too strong. She slammed his head into the floor and pinned him.

"The formula. _Now_."

"It—it's in the basement, in the safe, the combination is—" Cypher listened carefully for the numbers and dashed off. Norman smirked, but not for long.

"Idiot! You didn't tell me it had a _retinal scan_!" She picked him up and dragged him to the identification unit, then held his face up to the scanner. She fumbled through the safe, taking out a CD-ROM. "You made a backup copy. That's nice if your computer runs on Windows."

She turned to him again, snarling. "Well, given the nature of my work, I _can't_ leave any witnesses behind." She grasped him at the throat, slowly drawing out his life energy. Norman became progressively weaker; Cypher growing stronger at the same time. She could feel her muscles thickening, too distracted by her rage to wonder why.

Norman gasped. "But—what about my daughter—?"

Cypher's eyes opened wide. She knew what it was like to be the mother of a baby. At least she _did_—until the plane carrying her husband and toddler son slammed into a New York skyscraper early one September morning.

"Little Noreen—who will take care of her? Her father's dead. Her mother doesn't want her. Her grandpa is all she has."

Cypher let go suddenly. Norman rubbed his throat—his superhuman healing powers, with any luck, would return him to full strength in half a week. "You're a mother yourself—aren't you?" Nothing else could explain the shadow's sudden attack of conscience.

"_Was_," she said. "Timothy and his father were killed on September 11th."

"My condolences."

"Don't give them. I have what I need. Get over there and thank Noreen for saving your life."

The shadow slipped out the door.

Another silent figure stalked the shadows of Queens, making her way home from a marathon meeting of the Shylock High Physics Club. She stood around five-foot-ten, tall for a girl, her unusually large hands shaking under the stress she was increasingly unable to withstand. She fisted them, jammed them into her coat pockets. A fedora was pulled low over her round, strikingly attractive face, dark sunglasses covering huge, intense brown eyes. Shoulder-length, rich chestnut hair whipped in the breeze. Even in this unseasonably warm early October night, she wore a long black trench coat. Neither heat nor bitter cold affected her in the slightest, nor pain or fear.

When she quickened her pace, the coat billowed behind her like a cloak, revealing a black halter top, black cargo pants, and if the harvest moonlight was right, the silvery flash of four metal tentacles. With a hood and a sickle, she might have passed for Death himself.

Perhaps murderous compulsion and madness were woven into her genes. After all, she _was_ cloned from a supervillain.

The darker byways of New York City were humming with illegal enterprise. If anything, they ought to have cloned former mayor Rudy Giuliani.

The muggers didn't notice the tall girl in the trench coat. Not in the pitch-black shadows. Octavia could hear snippets of conversation.

"No, _please_ don't hurt me—"

"Come on! We know you want it, blondie! What did you expect us to do, strutting around in a dark alleyway by yourself in a shirt down to there and a skirt up to there like that? You _act_ like a whore, we _treat_ you like a—" The girl to whom the question was directed struggled in the muggers' grip, a futile endeavor. She, after all, didn't have superpowers.

The girl saw Octavia first, and her widening eyes caused one thug to turn.

"It might be a good idea right now to release her," Octavia advised.

The thug snickered. "You walk real fast away from here, Wonder Woman, and you just might leave alive—_ah_!"

Octavia had seized her adversary's right arm and bent it behind his back with such force that the shoulder broke with a loud crack. She pitched the thug away with a powerful human arm, reasoning that the sight of the tentacles would only scare the girl more.

Briefly airborne, the thug landed face first and tasted gravel.

The other thug recklessly charged into the fray.

Octavia heard the _whoosh_ of a swung chain. She turned to the source and sighed. "Sometimes it's better to learn from others' mistakes than to learn from your own."

Instead of dodging the chain, Octavia stepped towards the assailant. The chain lashed around her right arm. She simply flung back her arm, knocking him off balance.

The thug had a ponytail. It served quite nicely as a handle. Ponytail cried out and fell; Octavia helped him up by collar and crotch and tossed him into Gravel Mouth, who was stumbling back up, helping both to a good helping of pain. Neither of them felt like doing much of anything right then except going back into a nice warm bed, or under a rock, or maybe even their mothers' wombs.

"Are you alright?"

Blondie's eyes widened. She didn't know what to make of it. Sure, she'd seen superheroes like every other New Yorker, but this living shadow who had the strength of forty grown men, who fought with the unbridled ferocity of an animal—she was clearly afraid. She had good reason to be. The action at the alley hadn't diminished Octavia's aggression by one iota—aggression that had steadily risen over the past few days.

"These alleys aren't safe for you," Octavia told her. "You _should_ have known better than to walk here alone. Do you have someplace to go?"

Blondie nodded. "Home."

"Here? In Manhattan?"

"No, up in Schenectady. My family doesn't seem like such losers now."

Now envy and jealous rage were mixed with Octavia's fury; as a clone, she by definition simply didn't have a real family. There were the Jordans, of course, and Octavius himself, but they did not truly qualify, as much as Octavia wished them to. A wild desire raced through her head to smash the girl simply because she had something Octavia could never have. She just nodded and turned away. "Call them up and tell them you'll meet them at—" She looked at the brightly lit street corner, read the street signs.

Blondie was as bewildered as she was frightened. Octavia was painfully aware of how she shuddered at the sight of her. "Why did you do it? No one else would."

Octavia turned away. "Let's just say I have a lot to atone for." Then, she simply melted back into the shadows.

"Do you understand why you are here, Spider-Man?"

The superhero sat in a surprisingly comfortable armchair in a spacious office. "You called me over to get a cat out of a tree. A lot of little old ladies ask me to do that."

The man in the chair facing him smiled. He was tall, broad-shouldered, fit, with brown hair streaked with gray. An eye patch covered his right eye; the left was clear blue. He leaned back in his chair, stroking the white kitten in his lap. "I'm sufficiently secure in my masculinity to be immune from any wisecracks about Fluffy here."

"But the cat was just a cover."

"As is that mask. Enjoy the secrecy while you can, Mr. Parker. Congress is trying to push through a bill requiring all superheroes to be publicly registered."

"Why am I _really_ here?"

"I need to ask you some questions concerning your knowledge of Project Octopus and Operation Apollo."

The names were unfamiliar to Spidey.

The one-eyed man smiled. "I am Colonel Nick Fury, Chief Agent of the SHIELD division of the CIA." He gestured to an older man on his left. "This is Theodore Rockefeller, Director of the CIA Subdivision of Scientific Intelligence." Fury then pointed to an attractive, slim black woman sitting primly to his right. "This is Dr. Condoleezza Rice, Secretary of State." Next was a florid, gray-haired man. "George Tenet, former Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Mr. Rockefeller, Dr. Rice, Mr. Tenet, this is Peter Parker, otherwise known as Spider-Man."

"You know my secret identity." A statement, not a question.

"Yes, we do. We know the identities of all superheroes, even if their identities, like yours, are not publicly known. Rest assured that your identity, along with everything else said in here, will not leave this room. These officials are only observing, by necessity. I will be asking the questions. You will answer them truthfully, to the best of your knowledge—or I _will_ shout your real name from the rooftops. Understand?"

Spidey nodded. Fury turned on a video camera and fiddled with it a bit.

_the following is a partial transcript of Colonel Nicholas Fury's debriefing of Spider-Man, concerning events published in dramatized form by unknown source in _Nature Versus Nurture 2_; identities of both speakers confirmed by CIA voiceprint analysis; observed and recorded by the Secretary of State_

Col. Fury (in background): "This is a debriefing taken by Col. Nick Fury of SHIELD-CIA. The contents of this tape are highly classified and only to be seen by those working on Project Octopus and Operation Apollo. Your true name and superhero identity, please."

Parker: "My name is Peter Benjamin Parker. I have been working as the superhero Spider-Man since I was 16 years old."

Fury: "What is your relationship with Dr. Otto Octavius, the super criminal called Doctor Octopus?"

Parker: "He has been, for most of my superhero work, one of my archenemies."

Fury: "Is it true that you assisted CIA agent Cindy Cypher in the capture of Dr. Octopus?"

Parker: "Yes." He had, in fact, been blackmailed into the whole thing.

Fury: "Your efforts in capturing him failed, did it not?"

Parker: "Yes."

Fury: "Could you elaborate on why that happened?"

Parker: "I almost had him until Green Goblin stepped in and started fighting with Doc Ock."

Fury: "Who is Green Goblin and what is your relationship with him?"

Parker: "Goblin is actually Norman Osborn, the father of my late best friend. He is another one of my archenemies. He found out my secret identity and then killed my girlfriend—" Spidey began, trying to impress upon these government officials exactly why a secret identity was so important.

Fury: "Stick to the question at hand, please. What were the exact circumstances of your work with Agent Cypher?"

Parker: "I was pursuing Dr. Octopus down Manhattan shortly after he robbed a bank and taken a teenage girl hostage. I was met by Agent Cypher, who then sought my help to capture him. I was reluctant to do so, but she threatened to leak my identity to the media—"

Fury: "Please stick to describing what you did with Agent Cypher."

Parker: "Shortly thereafter, I discovered that Octopus was stealing equipment to build a radiation ray capable of destroying a large city. I deduced that he only needed one more piece to finish it, and where he could get it.

"I was able to subdue Octopus, but not until after he had taken what he needed. However, the teenage girl, Octavia Jones, fought and then severely injured me." Spidey was going to remember what those broken bones felt like for a long time.

Fury: "Did you know she was a clone created by the SDSI-CIA?"

Parker: "Not until after I made my second attempt to capture Octavius in front of Phoebus General Hospital. The Green Goblin then tried to interfere with the fight. He told me that the girl was a clone of Octavius, that the CIA wanted him to 'bring her in,' and that her genetic pattern was flawed. Goblin knocked Octopus into a car. I was able to prevent Agent Cypher from using lethal force."

Fury: "You convinced Agent Cypher not to shoot Octavius?"

Parker: "I believe she might have had some personal vendetta against him. She kept telling me that Octavius killed her mother. I told her that—"

Fury: "Please stay on the subject. What did the Goblin want with Octavia?"

Parker: "Like I said, Goblin told me the government wanted their experiment back. I don't know anything else. Agent Cypher kept saying the whole thing was highly classified."

_end of transcript_

The Director's eyes widened. It wasn't Cypher's incompetence that led to the failure of Project Apollo, after all. It was Spider-Man's interference in the mission. Still, Cypher had asked for his assistance, but the Director had suggested she go to her enemy's enemies. "It was hinted that Carlyle was going behind our backs, working with Goblin. We were never aware of the Oz formula before Carlyle had it injected into the clone."

Spidey's jaw practically touched the floor, just realizing the full implications of what he saw that day. "That girl, Octavia—she's a clone of Doc Ock—and _you injected her with the Green Goblin formula!_"

Nick Fury sighed. "The last super-soldier experiment of this scope was during World War II. That experiment resulted in Captain America—and ever since then, the SDSI has sought to recreate that great success. However, much of the Captain America files—including the secret formula—were later destroyed. We went on to other methods."

"For Pete's sake, you cloned a supervillain and then gave her a formula which could make her even crazier! What is this government coming to?"

Fury's voice was even. "The War on Terror has to be won at all costs, Parker."

"I'm not sure I like the costs. See, when your experiments go crazy, it's us superheroes who have to chase them down. And in return, you demand our secret identities, the only thing that protects our families and friends from our enemies."

"Do you like what you do—your superhero work?"

"Hell no. But I know I _have_ to do it."

"If you don't like it, why _do_ you?"

Spidey shook his head. "You guys wouldn't have a clue. You guys don't have enough of a sense of responsibility. Am I free to go now?"


	10. When Spiders Strike

Now that Quirk of Fate is finally finished, I fully expect my Loyal Minions' reviews to start pouring in. Keep your eye on this story (preferably while not using the computer to do homework, you slackers) because it's only going to get more interesting from here!

Say it with me--whether old or new, read and review!

Chapter 10: When Spiders Strike

Octavia woke up with a start. At first she thought it was a dream—a slender superhero in red and blue hanging over her bed on shimmering threads of spider web.

Entirely unfortunately, it wasn't a dream.

"_You_—"

"Shut up!" Spidey hissed to her, swiftly clapping a hand over her mouth. "You want to wake everyone up? You're not making my spidey-sense go off very loudly, which means you don't want to kill me—yet. But I can feel your distrust of me."

"What are _you_ doing here—in my _home_? Did the government send you after me again?" Octavia jerked his hand off her mouth; her tentacles wriggled free of the sheets.

"Ow!" Spidey yelped. "My wrist is still bad after the _last_ time you and I met. Look, if I'm risking my ass to save your life, can you at least have the decency to let me explain?"

"All I need to remember is that you and the CIA agents came after me and my—"

"Progenitor? You have to understand. I was acting under duress. I knew what these guys were doing was wrong, but I didn't have the courage to refuse them, and I'm sorry. I was only helping Cindy Cypher because she threatened to expose my secret identity—the only thing protecting my wife and children."

"You're—a father?" Octavia was dumfounded. Spidey didn't tell her that he was paid a princely sum for his part in Operation Apollo.

"Yes, I have two kids. But you were acting under duress, too, weren't you, when you fought me at Oscorp?"

"Yes. He _made_ me—" She, of course, was lying. She had willingly fought him, and relished the swift victory.

"They're coming after you, again. They won't rest until they have your body on a slab in their laboratory, do you understand?"

"Oh my God—"

"Do you know Anthony Nicholas?"

"Yes, this is his house—"

"They're tracing your address from the internet server on his blog. They plan to come here, right now. You know what you were created for, but now they realize there are certain defects in your chromosomes. They can't use you for their super-soldier breeder, so they're going to get rid of you. Understand? You're no longer of any use to them."

Octavia let out a strangled gasp. "What about Mack—"

"Mack _who_?"

"He's another clone—the clone of the Scorpion."

"Oh no," Spidey moaned to himself. "Those CIA guys are cloning them right off the assembly line! Just come with me, and for God's sake, _shut up and trust me._"

The resident of Pier 56 was tired. Exhausted, in fact. He would feel safe here; the only time anyone noticed him was when he—er, _liberated_—the equipment or money he needed for his various experiments. He sank down on a newly—er, _liberated_—futon, too tired from the day's battle to lift a tentacle pincer.

He'd nearly made off with some equipment from an otherwise unoccupied warehouse in downtown Manhattan; what he didn't realize was exactly who owned it. He found himself getting whipped from one end of Manhattan to the other by the Fantastic Four a short time later. He'd hardly ever battled against those heroes before, and when he did, it was likely in partnership with their usual arch-nemesis, his old friend Dr. Victor von Doom.

By contrast, he had faced off numerous times with Spider-Man; he knew the standard _modus operandi_ and every other piddling detail about the accursed arachnid like the back of his left hand. He could out-smart, out-strategize, and out-fight the little bug with half his brain and two arms tied behind his back to make it even; it seemed sheer dumb luck that the bug kept _beating_ him.

The villain wondered how the little teenaged girl had so easily succeeded in handing the wall-crawler's ass to him when his own much more capable efforts had previously failed superlatively. No mere woman was the equal of Doctor Octopus. But that particular mere woman was his _clone_ so, he grudgingly admitted, she came pretty damn close.

On the counter lay a box of pepperoni pizza; fortunately for his appetite, which happened to be almost as formidable as his tentacles, the pizza shop's zit-faced employees didn't ask too many questions when he ordered it wearing a long trench coat and paying with cash. There were still three large slices left, and a super-villain could work up quite an appetite robbing laboratories, thumping on superheroes, and getting thumped on in turn by a hero who both looked and hit like a two-ton pile of tenement-quality bricks. He was too tired to get up to get it, too tired to concentrate at the capacity needed to control his tentacles, and too tired to make the effort, despite his stomach's loud protests.

The mad scientist gazed at the box; he was so hungry and tired he could almost taste it. He glared at it with a white-hot intensity.

Then something very strange happened. The doctor would have never expected this.

The box slid to the edge of the counter. Slowly slid entirely off the counter, dangling in thin air as if on invisible strings. It slowly—excruciatingly slowly—floated three feet toward him. The sheer effort of will pained and exhausted him further, past the breaking point, plopping the box back to the floor. It was, however, close enough to bend over and reach. He gratefully ate, planned his next move, and resolved to study this strange, new phenomenon further.

_Nancy Melitta, in the New York laboratory of the SDSI-CIA, was really hitting her stride now. "Octavius was chosen precisely because we thought he lacked mutant abilities. Even our best scientists couldn't predict the effects of mutancy on a human clone. But—and this is truly fascinating—what if he _was_ a mutant a la Jean Grey of the 'X-Men', a latent telepath and telekinetic?"_

_Cindy Cypher looked, if anything, thoroughly bored. Melitta had once been a most formidable biologist and genetic engineer; however, that formidable brain was a little _too_ obsessed with its role in Project Octopus. Cypher thought she desperately needed a hobby or boyfriend. "There's no record of Octavius demonstrating any ESP abilities before his laboratory accident. Certainly not in childhood or puberty—"_

_Melitta was openly disdainful. "That is neither here nor there. Theodore and Mary Octavius are certainly not around to agree with you. Perhaps that accident, his greatest experiment, his magnum opus literally blowing up in his face, was merely the mental shock needed to shake his hidden psychic abilities loose. Perhaps what had been previously called brain damage was merely his brain rewiring itself to facilitate psionic control over the arms."_

"_I don't think Octavius has demonstrated any ESP abilities other than control of his mechanical arms—"_

"_No. He doesn't. But there have been instances—_documented_ instances, mind you—where this man has been put in prison, his arms surgically removed—and he telepathically—oh let's just say _calls_ them to him, and they _breakout_ of whatever holding box they're being stored in and _come_ to him like a _puppy_ and _break their master out of prison_! That's how he _always_ escapes! The last instance was when he broke out of the Asylum a couple years ago—"_

"_Then perhaps it would be wise to melt the tentacles down." Cypher, for all her faults, had an unpleasantly acute ability to cut through anyone's b.s. and get straight to the point. _

_Melitta was not fazed. "Now if he were to discover his telekinesis wasn't even limited to the tentacles—if that limit was merely a psychological block rather than a physiological block—"_

"_Spider-Man is pretty much screwed," Cypher acknowledged. _

"_As is the rest of New York," the Director dryly added. _


	11. That Hideous Strength

Chapter 11: That Hideous Strength

"_With a firm reliance in a Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor." –Thomas Jefferson, the Declaration of Independence_

"Okay, just where are you taking me?"

Spidey glared at her. "To my house up in Queens, of course."

"_Your house?_" Octavia repeated faintly. _How would his wife, his children, like the idea of his archenemy's mutated clone sleeping over?_

"It's the only way, Octavia. By now, when they get to the Nicholas residence, they'll know you're gone. They'll be searching the Gatsby home, and the Jackson home, even the apartment of your ex-boyfriend. You still don't quite know how these government people think, Octavia. Everyone you've ever known—and their families—will come under scrutiny. _Comprende, amiga?_ It is _because_ you are the clone of my enemy that they'll never think you're at my house."

Octavia, long resigned to the relentless surprises of fate, shrugged. He was, unlike her progenitor, a super_hero_—presumably more trustworthy.

At the Nicholas residence, Anthony, the Nicholas patriarch, was torn from the arms of Morpheus by his daughter's keening shriek.

"_Daddy! Octavia is gone!_"

Anthony stumbled out of bed, slipping feet into slippers with one hand in underwear, scratching his ass and mumbling, "This damned chip…!"

"Forget your freaking butt chip!" Jordan screamed. Not noticing any discernable response from her father other than discontented grumbling, she yelled again, "_Did you hear me, Dad? The forces of the Illuminati have Octavia!_"

That woke Anthony up proper, just in time to hear the insistent pounding on his door. _"Anthony James Nicholas!" _the voice on the other side called. _"This is Agent Cindy Cypher of the Central Intelligence Agency! You know what we want, bring it out!"_

"Jordan, get out of here now!" Anthony hissed.

"Daddy—"

"I said _get outta here now_ and call your mother and brother!"

"Daddy—" Jordan repeated. "I love you." Having said that, she hurriedly climbed out of the bedroom window.

In the Parker residence, Mary Jane, nursing infant May, pensively watched the television news. "Several supercomputers from Stark International have disappeared today, along with several million dollars worth of classified scientific equipment," the anchor placidly announced. "The chief suspect in the thefts is the mad scientist Dr. Otto Octavius, alias Doctor Octopus, who had stolen similar equipment from the Baxter Building earlier this week, which has since been recovered. The superhero Spider-Man, his proclaimed archenemy, is apparently missing in action—there have been no sightings of him for two weeks…"

Mary Jane sighed. "Well, Daddy hasn't been _here_, that's for sure. Do you miss Daddy, May?"

"Our guest today is J. Jonah Jameson, editor of the _Daily Bugle_, the leader in New York paranormal news…"

Mary Jane hastily changed the channel. She knew _just_ what he would say. In fact, it was pretty much the same thing he had been saying for the past five years. _Why, Spider-Man's been in cahoots with Doc Ock all along! We need to pass a law demanding public knowledge of "superhero" secret identities, just to sort the good guys from the rotten apples…_

Then she heard the turning of the key in the door. Peter ran towards his wife. "Important business—" he panted. Web-slinging at that speed was tough enough, and doing it while carrying a big girl like Octavia and her 60 pounds of metal only made it even harder. "Octavia Jones, this is my lovely wife, Mary Jane Watson-Parker. MJ, this is Octavia Jones, our temporary houseguest."

"Peter—?" Mary Jane was puzzled.

"Her life is in danger. I'll explain it all to you, come in the kitchen."

Anthony Nicholas opened the door to see a tall brunette attired in sunglasses and a jet-black business suit. _A Woman in Black_, he bemusedly thought.

"Where is the clone called Octavia Jones?"

"Heh heh. Well, Agent Cypher, I was wondering that myself. I thought _you_ had her."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Cypher smirked. "You know, I've got ample evidence to detain you for sedition, leaking classified information, and a whole grab bag of related charges." She gestured to a backup agent. "Take his computers, both his desktop and his laptop, and search his desk for any evidence relating to Project Octopus."

"Oh no you don't!" Anthony barked. "Go back and read the Constitution! The Founding Fathers wrote the Bill of Rights to protect people from the government doing shit like this! Benjamin Franklin said, '_Those who would sacrifice essential liberty for a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety_'…"

"Jefferson and Franklin never saw the possibility of a terrorist attack on the nation, Nicholas," Cypher coolly replied. "These days, the government protects the people by any means necessary. If you don't want to see another September 11th, we expect a little sacrifice from our charges."

"'_Amendment I: Congress shall make no law abridging freedom of speech—_'" Anthony quoted again.

This pissed Cypher off even more. She tackled him, pushed him to the ground. She rolled on top of him, handcuffing him. "While we're quoting, Oliver Wendell Holmes said, _'Freedom of speech does not give the right to shout "fire" in a crowded theater.' _Nicholas, with freedom comes responsibility. You can't endanger our national security, you can't give away government secrets, you can't put all kinds of shit on the internet and then claim First Amendment." She roughly stood him back again, ordering the backup agent to "Frisk him, just to see if he's exercising his Second Amendment rights as well as his First."

Anthony then yelped to the agent carrying his computers. "Hey! Do you at least have a _warrant_—"

"We don't need one—not a regular one, anyway. Ours was granted by a National Security emergency secret tribunal. You are now detained as a seditionist and a national security threat. You do _not_ have the right to remain silent, you do _not_ have the right to an attorney, and everything you say _sure as hell_ will be used against you. Let's see how you do in Guantanamo with all the ragheads—"

"Chief, do we really need this guy?" one of the backup agents asked Cypher. "I was just thinking that we set out to net an Octopus and now we're going after a minnow—"

"I don't expect you to _think_, Brannon, I expect you to _obey_!" Cypher shouted. "Load up the computers. This little _minnow_ has been living in the Octopus' den and he knows where she is. I'll question him myself if I have to!"

Unfortunately for them, they forgot to take Anthony's web cam.

Octavia, sitting on the couch, could hear whispers in the kitchen. The Parkers were obviously trying to keep their argument from her. Still, she could hear snatches, not at all pleasant.

"Peter! Are you telling me this girl is Doc Ock's clone? The one who attacked you last months ago?"

"Yes, Mary Jane. She didn't want to, Ock put her up to it—" Peter rubbed his wrists. They would never be _quite_ the same; his web-slinging was only slowed down a few seconds, but he knew those few seconds could someday mean the difference between victory and disaster.

"So why is she here?"

"Her life is in danger, MJ. The government agency that created her wants to recapture her—or kill her."

"Just what government agency are we talking about? FBI? CIA? NSA?"

"No, it's even lower on the radar. You ever heard of the SDSI? The Subdivision of Scientific Intelligence?"

"Look, Peter, I can't take this girl in, knowing who—and _what_—she is and what she did to you. Not with our _children_—"

Octavia turned away. She didn't think she could take it anymore, until Mary Jane walked in and said, "It's okay, Octavia. I've got the guest room set up."

But she still wouldn't look Octavia in the eyes.

Jordan had been pedaling her bicycle hard for half an hour. It was time to give Daisy Gatsby a wake-up call.

Meanwhile, at the Breedlove residence in Brooklyn, Melissa Breedlove was fumbling with her jacket and shaking her son Morgan out of bed, after responding to her daughter's urgent call.

Dr. Otto Octavius sat stock-still on his bed at Pier 56. Although the mad scientist had many hidden laboratory lairs across the New York area, he favored this one; it was his first. He opened his eyes. It was much easier if he thought of it as similar to his control over his tentacles.

_Move, now!_

The metal desk rose into the air, hovered for a moment, then rose in the air until it almost halfway to the ceiling. He lowered it again. Lift it, lower it. Lift it, lower it. Mental calisthenics, training his mind for the big fight. Now the bed, complete with his weight. Lift it, lower it. Just like an elevator. Elevator go up, elevator go down.

He was hardly tired at all. Well, okay, a little bit. But not much. This strange new ability, lost for years, was now in full flower. It had progressed at a speed which was, frankly, almost frightening, if he still had enough humanity left in him to _be_ frightened.

His large, long-lashed brown eyes had closed to slits and the veins throbbed in his temples and along his neck. The scientist in him had been most interested in what his body was doing; the scientist in him had graphed it, concluded it made no rational sense. His respiration had fallen to a bare sixteen breaths a minute. Heart rate up to 150, body temperature down to 94.5 degrees. The encephalogram he had hooked himself to during the first practice showed alpha waves that were no longer waves, but great jagged spikes akin to a lie detector signal from someone giving a big whopper. He was, in short, burning energy that came from nowhere and went nowhere. He finally set the bed down, gasping for breath.

Being a scientist, the first thing he wanted to know was the origin of this power. His mind filled with hypotheses. Perhaps it was intimately linked to the way he controlled his arms. Perhaps it was the radiation he had been exposed to in the accident that created Doctor Octopus. Perhaps he was merely a low-grade mutant all along, a natural telekinetic like the hapless prom queen of a certain Stephen King novel and the accident had merely shaken it loose. Perhaps the explanation was even more esoteric.

Also being a supervillain, the next thing he wanted to know was how to use this power for his own benefit, and how to use it against his archenemy, Spider-Man, and anyone else foolish enough to get in his way.

_At the headquarters of the SDSI in Manhattan, Dr. Nancy Melitta was starting to get worried. The whereabouts of the clone had been traced to the Nicholas residence. Agent Cypher had just come back with the formulae for the Oz formula, but Oscorp stock had dipped after rumors of Norman's "illness" had gone around. Cypher had now been dispatched to the Nicholas residence to sanction the clone and question Anthony Nicholas, as well as delete that infernal weblog of his. Cypher's personality under the living armor had steadily been changing, and not entirely for the better. _

_When Nancy got nervous or stressed, she read, or reread, a novel. She had loved to read since she was a child, so entranced by science fiction fantasies that she entertained dreams of becoming a scientist herself. Her dream fulfilled, her extensive science-fiction collection filled a bookshelf in her private office. _

_All the classics were there, all the greatest authors were represented. H.G. Wells, Octavia Butler, Lovecraft, and many more. The Frankenstein series of Dean Koontz sat next to Mary Shelley's original classic. Victor Helios, she thought, was a pioneer, albeit a fictional one. Build a race of supermen and superwomen, strictly materialist and secular, free of what Marx called the 'opiate of the masses,' and move humanity into the next stage of evolution by weeding out all weaklings, both of the intellectual and physical variety. You see, in nature, the weak hen in the pecking order is not tenderly lifted out of the dust by the other birds; it is quickly dispatched without mercy. Humanity needed to be freed from the ludicrous notions of helping one's fellow man and the equality of all humans (regardless of ability) and taken back towards the way nature intended life to be. _

_She even owned C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy. She hadn't read it in a long time; the man was admittedly a brilliant storyteller, but he was a devout Christian and it showed with all the ridiculous talk about planetary angels, demon possession, and the God he called Maleldil in his Space Trilogy and Aslan in his Narnia Chronicles. _

_The only reason the Space Trilogy came to mind was because she recalled the plot of _Perelandra_, where the hero had to fight a demon-possessed scientist—an Un-man, as Lewis referred to the villain. In that part of Nancy's mind that still loved science fiction, even that from C.S. Lewis, Cypher was starting to look like an Un-woman, and if she found the clone and it came down to a fight, Nancy was rooting for the clone—the lesser of two evils. _Always have to watch your own ass around here_, she thought._


	12. All For One

To Song With No Soul: Thank you for your reviews. As for my villains...I have fond memories of multiple reviewers practically screaming for the blood of the villainess of the Austin series. As for Otto's mutant powers...I must give credit where it's due and give a shout-out to my "homies" at the Yahoo! Doctor Octopus webgroup, for bringing up the possibility...fascinating place. As for the seemingly omnipresent secret government agency...you will wish to stick around to see the end.

Hello Loyal Minions, have I got an assignment for you! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to read the past few chapters of this story, Nature Versus Nurture 3, and then to review them so I will have some idea of what you think about them. The clock starts ticking...now.

Chapter 12: All For One

_John Hancock: "We must all hang together."_

_Benjamin Franklin: "Yes, for if we don't hang together, we shall assuredly hang separately."_

Dr. Payton Gatsby awoke to urgent pounding on his door. He faintly recognized his visitor.

"You must be Miss Jordan Nicholas. Daisy's friend from school."

"Where is she, Payton? Where's Daisy?"

"My daughter is asleep, Jordan, It's three in the morning."

"Tell her it's an _emergency_! Tell her that—"

Daisy had now shown up at the door. "Tell her that Octavia's been kidnapped, _again_," she sarcastically completed.

"What?" Payton was puzzled. "Octavia Jones? That tall brown-haired girl you two hang with? The one who wears a trench coat all the time?"

Jordan nodded confirmation.

"Haven't you called the police?"

"Of course not, Dad," Daisy said. "Jordan never calls the police because Octavia's been kidnapped five times in the past two years and she and her conspiracy nut father think—"

Jordan quickly slapped Daisy upside the face. "Shut up, Daisy! We've had our differences, but damn, this is bigger than you and me right now! You _know_ what Octavia is and _why_ she's in danger! She may be dead or tortured by them right now! What did the three of us swear so long ago?"

Daisy recalled an ancient elementary school memory. They were just cute little girls then. Jordan wasn't wearing a spiked collar and black leather then. Daisy didn't have a pierced eyebrow, tongue and nose then. Octavia didn't have robot tentacles sprouting out her back then. What the hell had happened over those years?

"_All for one and one for all,"_ Daisy whispered.

Jordan took charge at once. All those years in their little group of three, Jordan was the bold, brassy, charismatic leader; Octavia was the idea girl, the planner, the strategist and the brains of the troop; Daisy the quiet, reliable follower and peacemaker.

Then they were three. Now they might be only two.

Jordan was calling Directory Assistance. Octavia said Mack had mentioned his adopted mother was a lawyer, now a named partner in her law firm. She had just found out that one local law firm was headed by Murdock, Nelson, and _Jackson_.

And if this MaryAnn Jackson wasn't Mack's adopted mom, she'd eat Octavia's stupid Indiana Jones fedora. Without salt.

Jordan started to get a knot in her stomach. She sometimes got _intuitions_, _gut instincts_, but only in times of extreme stress. But as infrequently as they came, it was better if they were obeyed. Now they told her to go back home, before it was too late.

The Nicholas residence, when Jordan finally returned, was silent. Eerily silent. The kind of silent when you just _know_ something's wrong.

There was nothing and no one to be seen, not Men in Black, or her beloved father.

"What the hell—?" she whispered.

And then she saw him.

Anthony James Nicholas lay sprawled on his stomach. Right now, right here, Jordan didn't notice or care that four of the fingernails on his right hand were pulled out, or that there were two large punctures in his lower back.

All she knew that her beloved, courageous father was undoubtedly dead, and her reaction is better imagined than described, because it escapes even the words of this author.

How did it happen? The SDSI-CIA agent—was her name Cypher?—had arrested him, detained him—and then what did she do? Interrogate him right there in the den, pulling fingernails and demanding where "the clone" was?

But Jordan _knew_ her father never spilled. He'd held out until Cypher finally got tired of dealing with him and killed him. Before his arrest and interrogation, he fought. Fought for the Constitutional rights that he'd fought for in the Iraqi desert. This time, though, the enemies of Freedom were domestic, not foreign. And that had made him fight harder and fiercer than ever.

He'd known what Octavia was and what she was part of; he'd known what was happening and what was at stake. He'd opened up a big can of worms, uncovered a nationwide conspiracy, just like Danny Casolaro (a name quite unfamiliar to her, but one which Daddy mentioned and praised constantly), and just like Danny Casolaro had died trying to expose the tangled cabal he called "the Octopus," Anthony Nicholas had died trying to expose the equally tangled plot they called "Project Octopus."

Melissa Breedlove, neé Nicholas, and her custodial son Morgan Freeman Nicholas, pulled up to her ex-husband's house, hauling ass as best she could on her VW Beetle. The first thing she heard was her non-custodial daughter's high, keening shriek.

"It's nice and all that you're hiding me here, but what do I _do_, Mr. Parker? I can't just sit around and hide all the time, you know. My friends, my family—well, the closest thing I've _got_ to family now, at any rate—they're all in danger. I know it." She started for the door.

"Look, you're not doing your friends any favors by putting yourself in danger. Stay put at least until you drop off their radar—" With lightning speed, he grabbed at her coat.

"I don't think you quite understand, Mr. Parker," Octavia coldly replied. "I'll _never_ drop off their radar, not until I'm dead, and I have absolutely _no_ plans to die in the near future." She casually pushed him out of her way, Peter catching his breath heavily at the blow. _Doc Ock doesn't have super-strength, does he? _

She glanced once more at Peter. "Even if it means blowing the damn Manhattan SDSI headquarters sky-high."

Peter smiled. Got to admit, she had _chutzpah_. "At least let me take you there." He had his own vendetta.

"_Nicholas has been eliminated," Agent Cypher reported. "I paid a visit to him myself. He won't be a problem anymore."_

_Dr. Melitta felt an odd shudder from the human conscience she had so eagerly buried long ago under her coldly rational, scientific mind. Horror crept into her voice. "Did you use lethal force?"_

_Cypher's voice was oddly deep. "He refused to cooperate." Cypher looked different, too; she looked somehow stronger. Her muscles under the armor were more pronounced; she seemed to look a bit bigger. She was also getting more aggressive, more careless with orders. She couldn't succeed in her last assignment _following_ orders; what could she screw up _breaking_ them?_

_Nancy shuddered again, starting to regret playing around with alien life and celestial debris. Her expertise in biology and genetics was limited to life on _Earth_, thank you very much!_


	13. Ockham's Razor

Chapter 13: Ockham's Razor

_Octavia Jones was drowning._

_She was slowly sinking into an ice-cold New York river, along with her greatest and first creation: a great fireball, a star, a tiny sun that burned with the fire of her passion for science._

_That star was her dream. But to do the right thing, sometimes you have to be steady and give up the things you want the most, even if it was your greatest dream. You pays your money and you takes your choice. Her dream was about to destroy her city. _

_She had chosen to do the right thing, in the end. Even though those whose lives were saved would only remember her wrong choices. The ingrates._

_And now, the right choice was drowning, dying along with her dream._

_But there were others who did not want to die, entities that had a vested interest in keeping her alive. _

_Her tentacles were calling out to her now, as she slipped into unconsciousness. _

_Frightened as they were, they took action. The started madly paddling, bringing their master above water, dragging her towards the nearest patch of dry land. _

_But she was limp, her lungs full of water, her heartbeat faltering and faint. One of the tentacles, having once caught a rerun of _Baywatch_, had an idea. Its pincer gently rested on top of her chest, pumping gently so as to not crack her ribs while expelling the water from her lungs._

_Octavia's eyes blinked open, and she started to hack and cough. The tentacles screeched with joy. Their master was alive! Alive! It did not matter to them that oxygen deprivation had damaged her brain, that Octavia Jones had been almost obliterated and only Doctor Octopus now remained…_

Octavia's latest dream ended as Peter Parker shook her awake. "In the car, Octavia—" He gasped as his spidey sense sharply alerted him to a tentacle whipping him in the side.

Octavia shook her head out of its fog, slowly realizing that while the Spider-Man in her dream had hated her and injured her, the Spider-Man standing over her in waking wanted to protect and help her. She climbed out of the bed.

Melissa Breedlove gasped at the sight. Sure, it had been a long time since she'd divorced Anthony Nicholas—"irreconcilable differences," she'd claimed, as in the ideological differences between secret-conspiracy-obsessed Anthony and more optimistic Melissa—but she still loved him. He was, after all, the father of her children.

She kneeled down beside his body, tears filling his eyes. "Anthony, my sweetheart—!" Then she said something that would have never come out of her lips were he still alive.

"My god," she told her daughter and son, "He was right. He was right all along."

"How do you know where the Headquarters is?" Octavia asked, riding shotgun in Peter's car. "And _why_ are we taking your _car_? Can't you swing from building to building on your spider web?"

"Don't give me lip," retorted Peter. "First question, I was detained and questioned there for my role in Operation Apollo. Second question, I can't swing quite as well as I used to and I have _you_ to thank."

Octavia hid a smirk under her gloved hand, gratified that he still hurt enough to think twice about attacking her in the future. "Operation Apollo—?"

"When I went after your progenitor, whose first major experiment involved a miniature sun." Peter's tone of voice all but included a silent "_duh!_" at the end.

"I saw a miniature sun once," she said. "It was in a dream. I've been having very strange dreams lately. My best friend tells me that a clone has all the original's memories, and that they're in my subconscious mind."

"Tell me about them," Peter urged. "I certainly could tell you whether they're memories."

Her progenitor, Octavia realized, had not been overly forthcoming about his past. She had also wondered how he was still alive when everyone who had seen the movie knew he had drowned destroying the miniature sun. Parker, as Octavius' proclaimed superhero archenemy, was the next best link to her past.

"Mom! How can you say that _now_?" Morgan asked.

Jordan was just as incredulous. "Can Dad have one cosmic _I told you so_ now?"

"I can't understand," Daisy Gatsby shook her head. "Why would they kill your dad? I thought they were only after Octavia—and her 'father'."

Dr. Payton Gatsby, Daisy's psychologist father, also shook his head. "Wait, just what are we talking about here?"

Melissa finally said, "Anthony sent me an email before he died. But the only thing that it said was 'They've finally found me. I love you, and if anything happens to me, be extremely suspicious.'"

"He found out they were hacking into his server," Jordan told her. "They had traced his location. He knew that Octavia's been living with us since her parents died."

"Octavia _Jones_?" Melissa asked. "Your friend who always wears the trench coat?" Her face hardened. "The one who stood up Morgan to meet up with another guy?"

It was then that Mack and Maryann Jackson, formerly Griffin, had let themselves in.

"My God, it's true," Maryann gasped. "This is what happened to my Henry. Everything Mack said is true. He's not the only one they were making."

"Making _what_?" Payton still didn't understand.

"We have to get out of here," Jordan said. "They know who we are and where we live. We have to go somewhere where I can explain it all to you."

"Wow," Peter said softly after Octavia had finished relating her dreams. "They _are_ memories. I know. I was there."

"Why would I have his memories in the first place? And why can't I remember them when I'm _awake_? I only see them in my dreams."

"You are his clone, Octavia. You share all—save one gene—of your DNA with him. Studies have shown that identical twins share psychic links that even fraternal twins or ordinary siblings cannot. Besides, the body remembers. The cells remember. The _soul_ remembers. What the hell is in your backpack, anyway?"

Octavia unzipped the backpack and showed him. It was the sonic nullifier she had stolen from the convention while she was her progenitor's hostage—saved, perhaps, for this day. There was also something else in there far more conventional and far less complex than the nullifier.

"For God's sake!" Peter exclaimed. "Don't let that go off in here!"

_Cindy Cypher nervously paced the room. "I made every preparation! I have staked out the Nicholas house for weeks! I've trained the _satellite _security cameras on them, for Chrissakes!"_

"_Obviously, either the problem is with the equipment or with the manpower," the Director said evenly. "We both know those cameras are capable of catching a spider pick its nose under a rock. The only other option is that you have finally proven your incompetence. Perhaps sensitive, classified SDSI projects are still beyond your experience."_

"_You aren't going to fire me, are you? Because I know entirely too much about Operation Apollo and Projects Octopus and Scorpion, as well as Project Six, which I worked on with Fury's SHIELD."_

"_Of course you do. That's why we're not going to fire you." The Director's face spread in an expansive smile, an expression that could almost be mistaken for generosity or benevolence if you didn't know better. He pulled a pistol out of his suit jacket pocket. "We can't risk you going to the press, and we can't have you blackmailing us for job security."_

_He fired the gun. _

_Cypher staggered back, her face distorted in surprise and anger. _

_The Director gasped. _

_Cypher looked down, watched her black suit shimmer, watched the bullet miraculously pop out of her chest._

_The Director never had time to fire another shot._

_Cypher turned to Dr. Nancy Melitta, who was frozen in horror and revulsion at what her colleague had briefly become. "Deputy Director Melitta…you've just been promoted."_

_It was then that Melitta saw the silver lining in that particular cloud. "How…expected."_


	14. Whosoever Fights Monsters

Chapter 14: Whosoever Fights Monsters

"_Whosoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. For when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."_

—Friedrich Nietzsche

Secrets, as Nancy Melitta or Otto Octavius could tell you, are more unstable than tritium or uranium-234. Mary Jane Watson-Parker eventually called her friend Susan Storm-Richards, explaining the dangerous creature her husband had brought home and fretting over what she could do to her children, young Benjamin and infant May. Susan agreed with Mary Jane's analysis, saying she would never let an enemy, or a clone of one, in her house, especially since she had two young children as well, young Franklin and infant Valeria. Susan advised Mary Jane to call Nick Fury at SHIELD-CIA.

The call was made. Mary Jane called Fury.

Fury called Melitta.

Melitta called Cypher.

_Agent Cindy Cypher snapped open her cell phone. "What? I never expected him to—well, would _you_ have?—Yes, I'll bring him down. I swear if I find the clone with him, I'm going to pull his mask off myself!"_

In the driver's seat, speeding towards downtown Manhattan, Peter's eyes widened. "Octavia—jump out of the car, _now_."

"What—?"

By now, Peter knew better than to doubt his spider-sense. He promptly jumped out of his side, racing around to grab Octavia by the trench coat collar and drag her out—

Just in time to see an SUV hurled through the air and plopped on top of the car, and just in time to avoid being crushed along with it.

Peter wildly looked around. Each of his archenemies carried a unique spidey-sense signal; he _knew_ this one. If his spidey-sense was right (and it had only been wrong once so far, when he mistook the clone for her progenitor—a small mistake), he would soon hear the all-too-familiar and unpleasant _crunch-crunch-crunch_ of adamantium on pavement.

But he did not.

His senses pinpointed the danger, blurring the crowds until he clearly sensed a short, stocky man in a green trench coat walking on the sidewalk, heading towards him. _If I didn't know better, I'd swear that was him!_

Better to be safe than sorry. "Octavia—go and run towards the SDSI headquarters; it's 7 blocks that way, the tall building with the blue glass panes. I have someone to meet." With that, he ducked into an alleyway, stripping off his civilian clothes.

Octavia was curious. "Who?"

Peter was tempted to reply, _Just an overgrown Eric Cartman with too many arms_, but he was not the sort to insult a young lady's father in her presence. So he simply pulled his mask on.

Then he heard his enemy's hated voice behind him. "Is there a doctor in the house?"

"Oh, do you want an autographed picture? You'll have to get in line behind all my other stalkers."

Octavia shook her head as she ran. She despised Spider-Man's amateur comedian approach to battle.

"Your sophomoric humor never ceases to amaze me, Spider-Man. On an etymological note," he digressed, "the word _sophomore_ comes from two Greek words: _sophos_, which means _wise_ and from which comes the English _sophisticated_, and _moros_, the root of the modern English _moron_."

"You don't have to explain to me what your insults mean, Ock. I have important things to do, so can I just whoop your ass, web it up, and get it over with? But first, tell me how you managed to plop a car on top of me without using your tentacles."

_This asshole just loves the sound of his own voice,_ Spidey knew. He held his hands behind his back, loading the artificial web-shooters Cypher had given him. Ever since that fight with Octavia, his natural web had been behaving erratically and his wrists still pained him. With Octavius, he couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. The longer Otto talked, the less he noticed what Peter was doing.

"Do you really think that Doctor Octopus is some low-grade film villain, who freely reveals his evil master plan in front of the hero at the climax of the battle? Suffice it to say I've learned some new skills. You have someone I hold dear, someone important enough to me to fight you for. You certainly mean her no good."

Spidey decided to play ignorant, wishing he could punch the insufferable super-powered gasbag already, anything but standing here in the middle of the street _chatting_ with him. "Do I get three guesses as to who that is?"

"Please, you're betraying your ignorance. You and your friends at Marvel Comics and Sony Pictures certainly enjoy mocking my less-than-perfect eyesight. But don't try to convince me that I _didn't_ see you driving my daughter to the headquarters of those agents trying to capture and kill her as we speak."

"I was trying to _help_ her, something _you_ know nothing about because you think only of yourself. You want to keep her for your heir, just like Norman's legacy killed his own son."

"And where are _your_ children, Parker? Oh, don't look surprised and don't think I've already forgotten how you foolishly unmasked yourself to plead with me to destroy my first experiment. Where _are_ they, Parker? With your wife, perhaps, wondering where Daddy is and why they never see him?"

_That_ insult drove Spidey over the line; exactly what Octavius, who had been spoiling for a fight ever since he'd discovered a few new powers, had intended it to do.

Spider-Man's teeth were gritted; he lunged at Octopus, outraged. "Never speak of my family again, or I'll—" he started, but his threat was never finished, because both his words and his fist, seemed to freeze in midair. Then Spidey found himself hurled into a nearby wall. The hero slowly stood up, leaned against the wall, and hastily fired off spider web; with one careless wave of Octopus' hand, the web sprayed back onto him, thoroughly gluing him to the alley wall, a Spider trapped in his own web. Spidey's reaction is not fit to be printed here.

Melissa Breedlove and her children Jordan and Morgan Nicholas, Dr. Payton Gatsby and his daughter Daisy, and Maryann Jackson and her adopted son Mack, crowded themselves into a small room in Hotel 6. All of them had one thing in common: The teenagers were all linked to Octavia Jones.

"So basically," Jordan finished saying, "my best pal Octavia Jones is actually the second human clone in scientific history and Mack here is the first. They were both created by a CIA-affiliated government agency called the SDSI to serve as genetically-enhanced, but disposable super-soldiers to fill out the ranks of the US military in the War on Terror so they won't protest a draft like in Vietnam. Octavia and Mack are both cloned from infamous supervillains and have certain powers, and now the government's trying to get them back. Octavia's already been kidnapped twice and she's missing again. We suspect that the government knows that Octavia's been living with my dad and that they had a hand in his death."

"What if they finally succeeded in capturing her?" Dr. Gatsby asked.

"What?" For Jordan, ever the optimist, the possibility was unthinkable.

"You said she must have gone missing in the government's midnight raid on your house or shortly before. That sounds like government capture to me. It's the only logical possibility—though I have heard a lot of things tonight that challenge everything I've believed about America."

"If that's true, the only logical possibility after that would be to bring her back." Jordan's voice was hard.

"Don't even think about it, young lady!" Melissa shouted. "This Octavia—person, I guess—already got your father killed!"

"You don't mean that, Mom! How dare you say—!" Jordan screamed, but Mack interfered with the imminent catfight.

"Jordan," Dr. Gatsby asked, "You have told me about your friend having dreams about her progenitor. I suspect that her unconscious mind is retaining biological memories of him."

Jordan turned toward the psychologist. "Yes, I've suggested that. She wouldn't hear a word of it."

"Do you think they could have a psychic link to each other? Strictly genetically, they are almost the same person."

Daisy piped in, "I saw—the progenitor, Doctor Octopus—almost die protecting Octavia, Dad. I think they bonded very closely while she was held by him."

To Dr. Gatsby, the solution was obvious. "Then we go to this Doctor Octopus and ask him for his help."

Spidey came to a sickening realization as he started to pull off the web. _Octavius must have always had some psionic ability. That's why he could control his arms so well even when they were surgically removed after his latest arrest. Now he's found a way to use his psychokinetic powers without involving the arms. Boy, am I screwed now. I must look like such an idiot._ His personal embarrassment would have to wait. The future of the free world was at stake, and where was Captain America when you needed him? He spotted Otto down the street, calling his "daughter's" name. Otto could redeem himself, or at least begin to, tonight, and besides, Winston Churchill once said he would have allied with the Devil himself to defeat Hitler.

"Wait! I know where she's headed!" Spidey called.

Otto stopped in his tracks. Then he suddenly appeared in front of him. "What?"

"You heard me. I know where Daddy's little girl is," Spidey snarled, still struggling.

"Be still!" Otto commanded, and Spidey froze, constrained by an invisible force field.

"I'm listening, Parker," Otto replied, popping out his tentacle blade to cut the web. "Let's call a truce. You have knowledge I want, and I have the power to release you. Fair exchange; with my new powers, you're no longer a threat to me."

"She's going to the Blue Tower, the New York SDSI-CIA Headquarters a few blocks from Times Square. She intends to confront her creators and destroy the building and with it, their research. She will not let them create another clone."

"Thank you," Octavius acknowledged.

"Anytime, pal," Spidey replied, with as much sarcasm as possible.

"Oh, shut up," Octopus told him, and clubbed him over the head with a tentacle without releasing him. "Truce rescinded."


	15. Acts of Will

Chapter 15: Acts of Will

"_I wish my life and my decisions to depend on myself, not on external forces of whatever kind. I wish to be the instrument of my own, not of other men's acts of will. I wish to be a subject, not an object." –Isaiah Berlin_

A stern-faced Secret Service agent stood his guard outside the entrance of the Blue Tower, the New York City secondary headquarters of the SDSI. To digress, the primary headquarters was in Longmont, Virginia, near Washington, D.C., and it was there that other SDSI experiments in chemical and genetic engineering were performed, and which a horror novelist of some fame documented. Agent Bill Flowers was a show guard, as opposed to the real guards provided by SHIELD-CIA. The job was easy, nothing to do as most of the public was unaware of what _exactly_ went on in the Blue Tower. With the _real_ security performed by the SHIELD, he was basically a receptionist with a badge, paid to stand there, look menacing, and ask for proper identification. Hell of a lot easier than taking a bullet for the President! Talk about stress-free jobs.

At least until _now_, when the underground parking lot below the Tower rang out with the sound of crashing metal, cement, and glass. Agent Flowers looked up from his _People_ magazine, ran to the source of the demolition derby, and saw the damndest thing—it looked like a tall person on stilts, bobbing up and down between the cars, and in fact, hurling some of them skyward, where they smashed mostly unsuspecting SHIELD men below. It wasn't until the front of the Blue Tower erupted in an explosion of peacock-blue glass shards, and he caught the sight of a two tri-symmetrical pincers attached to a pair of sinuous adamantium tentacles, that he began to suspect who might be behind this.

"Mayday! Mayday! The Tower is under supervillain attack!" Flowers shouted at his radio, hurriedly climbing up a tree.

"_Description, please, or name of supervillain if you can make an identification."_

Flowers, who occasionally read the papers (when he found a discarded one he could claim as his own) and watched the news and movies, could certainly make one in _this_ case. "Octopus. I repeat: the Tower is under attack by supervillain identified as Doctor Octopus—"

Flowers was close, but no cigar. A tall, brunette young woman, supported by another pair of writhing tentacles, bobbed into the entrance, then stopped suddenly, adjusting the backpack she wore. He leaned close into his radio. "It's not Doctor Octopus. The supervillain's a female, but she does have the—"

A different voice came over his radio. _"This is the Director Melitta," _she said. _"What are you waiting for? Don't be rude, let our guest in."_

Then the strange young woman caught sight of him, and the hapless Agent Flowers was pulled out of his hiding place by the ankle.

Melissa Breedlove shivered by the riverbank, looking up at the entrance of Pier 56. "Do you really think Doctor Octopus lives and plots world domination in this _dump_?"

"_Duh_, Mom!" Jordan retorted. "I've _watched_ the _movie_, you know!"

After a few minutes of Jordan's fruitless knocking and repeated shouting of the supervillain's real name, Daisy sighed and said, "Maybe he's not home right now."

"Maybe he doesn't even _live_ here," added Melissa. "Real life isn't like the _movies_."

"_Real life_ isn't even real life anymore," sighed Morgan. "If someone told me a year ago that Dad was right about an, pardon the pun, octopus-like government organization cloning octopus-like supervillains for a secret army, I would have said they were as crazy as he is."

By the time Flowers caught sight of the young woman's face, round but darkly beautiful, twisted into a hateful and agonized sneer, a tentacle wrapped securely around him, wresting agony from compressed and cracking ribs like a mighty python strangling its prey.

He croaked out one word to the woman who was about to murder him.

"Why?"

Her voice was slightly deep, exotic. She had a nice figure too, even though it was securely wrapped in a brown trench coat. He would have thought her dating material, if she wasn't, you know, a psychotic, rogue supervillain clone with tentacles sprouting out her back. "Are you _really_ in a position to question me?"

Flowers couldn't breathe, so he hastily shook his head. His momma didn't raise dummies.

Octavia Jones sighed. "You know, I really don't enjoy senseless killing. And under different circumstances I might have allowed you to live. But I am under conditions that severely compromise my dignity, sworn to destroy the modern-day Frankensteins that violated the laws of Nature and of Nature's God by cursing me with an existence that should have never been. Even though you are a nonentity, by working for these people you are complicit in their crimes. Therefore…"

She held up another tentacle, and a blade popped out of it. In its reflection Agent Bill Flowers could see exactly what was coming to him.

Octavia dropped Flowers' body, and entered the building proper, smashing walls as she went.

She smiled. She'd lied when she told him she didn't enjoy it.

"I guess we're out of options," Melissa sighed to Jordan, Morgan, and Daisy, speeding down the street in her car. Payton followed behind in his car, accompanied by Mack and Maryann.

"Wait!" Mack called to Payton. "I see something! Pull over now!"

Payton figured that Mack must have enhanced, superhuman vision, because _he_ couldn't see a thing. He trusted him, and pulled over.

What Mack had spotted out the window was a disgruntled superhero in red and blue tights wriggling in the spider web that held him securely to the wall, muttering, "The good news, this stuff dissolves in an hour. The bad news, I _really_ have to _pee_…"

By that time, Melissa had pulled over her car next to Payton's. Figure if anyone would know about the original Octopus, it would be his archenemy.

Jordan boldly stepped up to him. "Hi, I'm Jordan Nicholas. I'm looking for Doctor Octopus, I'm a friend of Octavia Jones and—"

"I've seen you before!" Spidey exclaimed in sudden recognition. "You were in the front passenger side of the car that ran over Doc Ock a few months ago when I was working with Agent Cypher—"

Jordan was horrified. "You were _working_ with an agent of the SDSI? The people trying to kill my _friend_?"

Spidey looked pained and sympathetic. He offered the same explanation he had given to Octavia. "Look, Miss, uh, Jordan, I didn't go into that mission by choice. I was blackmailed and threatened with the revelation of my secret identity. I have a wife and kids, you see."

"So you went to capture someone's daughter and friend."

Spidey nodded.

"Spider-Man, I want to know if you've seen either Dr. Octavius or Octavia."

"I've seen both. Last I've seen, they were heading toward the Blue Tower."

Jordan knew about the new, beautiful skyscraper, entirely paned with glistening peacock blue glass, constructed just a few feet away from the long-destroyed World Trade Center. A September 11th memorial stood in its shadow, and the top boasted the tallest, highest flagpole in the world, where Old Glory waved its promise of freedom. The official name for it was the Freedom Tower, but everyone in New York simply called it the Blue Tower, but with a sense of respect. However, the strange thing was that no one could tell you exactly _what_ was in the Blue Tower or _who_ worked in it. The closest guesses involved government offices, and individuals with a keen sense of irony would speculate that it was the new site of the Homeland Security Agency.

"By the way, why are you wrapped up in your own spider web?"

"Don't ask. Octopus has a few new powers now. He's more dangerous than ever."

Mack walked up, and using hands endowed with the strength of mighty scorpion pincers, started tugging on the web. It stretched a fair bit, but didn't break.

Since there was nothing else they could do, they simply climbed back in the car.

The alarm had been raised. All SDSI employees were hurriedly evacuated from the Tower, all except for Agent Cindy Cypher and the new Director, Dr. Nancy Melitta.

Melitta smiled. Who would have thought that her accursed creation would walk straight into her hands?


	16. Ex Nihilo

Hello, my Loyal Minions. Just because I am now starting Quirk of Fate Part 2: Night of the Goblin (the sequel to the newly renamed Quirk of Fate Part 1: The Octopus Strikes), this does not mean I don't expect you to hang around for the conclusion to the Nature Versus Nurture series--and the one final big twist at the end! Whether old or new, read and review!

Chapter 16: Ex Nihilo

"_So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them." –Genesis 1:27_

"_And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." —Genesis 2:7_

The building was empty. After Octavia had wired the bomb to the foundations shortly after she came in, she had spent her time angrily searching for her creators.

"Melitta!" Octavia called. "Stop being a coward! Come out here and face your handiwork! The Dr. Frankenstein shall face her monster today!"

And then, in the laboratory, she heard the dreaded voice behind her.

"I'm a genius, but no coward, Octavia Jones. And you don't have to shout."

Octavia shivered. She, programmed to be fearless, even in the face of such people as her father's archenemy, or the nut in the green suit, had been afraid when she confronted her creator for the first time. She was afraid now, the second.

More than fear, anger swelled up in her, anger that could easily feed upon itself like a nuclear fusion reaction, swallowing memories and nightmares into itself until it reached critical mass and began a chain reaction of violence—the kind of violence that led her to, say, throw a cab into a window or break a superhero's limbs.

Her fury, combined with those arms, had made her a danger to the innocent until she had learned to control her temper and tentacles, something which her progenitor evidently never bothered to learn. Now, in an empty laboratory in the presence of her maker, only she herself would be endangered by her unbridled fury—the fury she never dared to show Jordan and Daisy until the Queen Bee pushed her over the edge, and which she had only spent a fraction on Spider-Man those months ago.

Nancy glanced at the front door. "How did you get past the security system?"

Octavia smirked, twirling the nullifier. "I'm my father's daughter."

It irked Nancy to hear the clone refer to her progenitor as _father_. "You admittedly inherited his genetic potential for intelligence, but not his Ph.D. from MIT. What a sight you are, with that stupid heavy trench coat, an odd look for a New York early fall. Do you really think it makes you less of an abomination when we both know what's under it?"

Nancy took another step into the laboratory.

To her immense chagrin, Octavia found herself retreating a step back.

"And dressed all in black, too. Are you in mourning for someone? Is it Anthony Nicholas, who never learned not to stick his nose in government intrigue he doesn't understand?"

Octavia's hands had hardened into fists. She longed to strike out, could not. This was Melitta's turf.

Nancy observed with mild interest that Octavia's ring finger was slightly shorter than her index, characteristic of a man's hands. On a woman's hands, the index and ring were roughly the same length.

"What a brute you are," said Nancy. "I'm almost ashamed to admit I made you. Well, like you just said, you're your father's daughter, right? Except you're _not_, of course. They say he killed his wife."

"You're insane and always were."

"The octopus talks!" Nancy exclaimed in sarcastic delight.

"The monster-maker has become the monster."

"Ah, and it believes itself witty as well, a trick it might have learned from Parker. You'd think a relatively smart superhero would know better than to work with his archenemy's clone. _Especially_ if said clone attempted to kill him barely five months ago."

"You paid him to kill my father. He didn't want to. Your agents threatened to give away his identity." Octavia's vision was darkening steadily; she could feel the blood rushing to her ears and she was breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

Nancy was much amused. "The ends justify the means. Your hands are so tightly fisted that you're bleeding from the palms from your own fingernails. _Relax_, Octavia. That kind of hatred is unhealthy."

Octavia spread her fists out into fans of fingers, holding the palms out to Melitta so she could see the self-inflicted wounds heal within seconds.

"Ah, I see. The Oz formula. I never thought of improving you that way. I have to give Carlyle and Osborn some credit."

"You seem to have no problem working with supervillains if it serves your interests."

"Like I said, the ends justify the means. I must break a few eggs to make a great omelet. I am only a humble servant of Humanity, a scientist charged with bringing Humanity into the next stage of evolution. A mind as great as mine must be freed of common morals as it must be denied common pleasures. Mine is a great and lonely destiny, as mine is a great and lonely work."

"A lot of evil has been done by 'humble servants of Humanity' like you, Nancy."

"Do you, Octavia, really presume to lecture me on evil? _You_, the multiple murderess, the thief of scientific equipment, the supervillainess who once maimed a cheerleader over a few careless insults?"

"Well, Dr. Melitta, ever since I was told of my origins, I've always wondered what would make someone want to play God, create life from dust as only He can and should. And now I have finally learned what I always wanted to know. You're not as selfish as I first thought. You were never in it for the glory. Unlike the Raelians of a decade ago, you weren't interested in newspaper headlines or money or even Nobel Prizes. Like you said, you're a servant of Humanity, using your knowledge of genetics to make them stronger, healthier, and happier. You wanted to make a Brave New World where no one gets cancer or AIDS or broken bones, where everyone is genetically suited to, therefore happy with, their destiny, which is chosen for them before birth. In your new society, no one is ugly, stupid, crazy, or criminal, because such types would be eliminated before they're born. The military was just the beginning. You wanted to work toward a worldwide Utopia of shiny, happy, perfect people. I finally understand. Your Prophet is named Charles Darwin, your Holy Writ the _Origin of Species_, and Macendale Jackson and I were your new Adam and Eve."

Melitta smiled. "You're very intelligent, Octavia. Even with your rigid notions of Christian morality, even you could see the benefits of such a—well, a New Jerusalem, a Heaven on Earth."

Octavia shook her head. "You can't make humanity perfect, since it has never been. Don't you know that the word _Utopia _comes from the Greek for 'no place'?"

"Humanity can't be made perfect now. But someday, it will be, without superstition and religion in all its forms. I'll die, but my successors will live on. New Humanity will be."

"Well, I have another secret to tell you, Dr. Melitta. Within approximately one and a half minutes, the bomb I've wired into the foundations is going to blow the misnamed, so-called 'Freedom Tower' sky-high. Neither you nor I will leave alive." With surprisingly nimble fingers, Octavia slipped out a remote control, and pressed a button.

"What are you doing?" Nancy exclaimed when the information finally registered. "You'll kill all of us—including yourself!"

Octavia only smiled. Her voice held a strange calm. "I don't fear death anymore. Death might be just the beginning of the next life. Perhaps there _is_ a Creator God."

Nancy smirked. "You're crazy, Octavia. You're a monster. There is no God, and even if there _was_, I can assure you that He would have no place in His heaven for the likes of you."

"I don't need Heaven, Nancy. Eternal darkness and silence will be quite enough for me."

Melissa Breedlove, Payton and Daisy Gatsby, Maryann and Mack Jackson, and Jordan and Morgan Nicholas, by now crammed into Payton's minivan and having left Melissa's Beetle for Spider-Man to watch as he picked his way out of his web, raced towards the Blue Tower. They were bound by one common destiny and one common person, and they were going to meet both, together.

Melissa, at the wheel, swerved up to the corner, the nearest place she could park to the Tower.

Melissa stopped the car, applied the brake, and shut off the ignition—

When September 11th happened all over again.

The bomb had gone off, and the Blue Tower had become a waterfall of crystal shards.

The force of impact hurled the Gatsby minivan a fair thirty feet into the air. All passengers covered their heads preparing for the inevitable fall, except for Maryann, who had pulled out a rosary. Just when all seemed lost, a miracle happened.

The van suddenly stopped in midair. Jordan, a very brave young woman, peered out of the window. They were floating on air, floating on nothing until the van gently rested on an obliging patch of empty street eight blocks away, far from any possibility of danger.

From then on, when relating this strange event, Jordan would say that when she first looked out the window, she saw below her a dark-haired, stocky man in a long green trench coat, his hand raised, a look of intense concentration on a face half-covered by dark sunglasses.

But if it was Dr. Otto Octavius, known as Doctor Octopus, who had saved the lives of her and her family and friends, he certainly didn't stick around to receive her thanks.

Later that afternoon, two bodies were pulled out of the rubble of the Blue Tower. Both were female, one around her early thirties, one barely a teenager. One was identified as Octavia Mary Jones. The other, found partially slimed with a mysterious black goo, was identified as SDSI agent Cindy Jane Cypher.


	17. The Omega and the Alpha

Ah, almost to the end of the road. _Almost._ Don't get complacent.

To Song With No Soul: Sorry for the long wait, nothing like someone trying to install a new operating system on your computer and mucking up your Microsoft Word along the way. Here's where you will discover the fate of Dr. Melitta, and where I explain that Octavia thought she had to blow up the Blue Tower because that was where all the Projects research and equipment was. Knowing firsthand her own torment at being a clone and Macendale's torment secondhand, she would not permit them to create another one. Happy reading!

Whether old or new, read and review!

Epilogue: The Omega and the Alpha

"_God does not play dice with the universe." _–Albert Einstein

"_Stop telling God what He must do!" _–Niels Bohr

The reporters were quickly gathering around the ruins of the former headquarters of the Subdivision of Scientific Intelligence. Miraculously, they noted, the nearby September 11th memorial and the great flag were spared the destruction. They converged on the street corner, well away from the fire engines. The official word, given by leg-crossing, disturbingly perky morning news anchors in pancake makeup, was that it was the work of Islamic terrorists, just like the attack on the World Trade Center so many years ago, still burned into New York City's collective memory. Some people, not normally given to thoughts of the paranormal, said the site was cursed. And most otherwise worldly and cynical New Yorkers swallowed the story whole.

But some knew better.

One had slipped into one of his many underground laboratories, amusingly reading tabloid rumors that he had fathered a son through a California lady lawyer he'd picked up at a bar half a year ago—and then, once more, plotting another revenge on that accursed arachnid aberration that stubbornly placed himself between him and the good graces of the scientific community.

One stood in front of the ruins, blonde hair ash-covered and streaming in the wind, remembering Octavia's final request. Remembering that Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ ended with bodies littering the stage, how Horatio, one of the only survivors of the tragedy, swore to carry out _his_ friend's final request…_ "If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, to tell my story." _She caught sight of one reporter, currently interviewing a young SDSI computer scientist identified as Dr. Carolyn Trainer.

One had escaped from the burning building from the skin of her teeth, quietly slipping into the crowd, and later quietly slipping into the helicopter that would take her to the second SDSI-CIA headquarters in Virginia. Octavia had died unknowing that her creator was still free to wreak havoc at the genetic level.

And one was contentedly walking home to his home in Queens, never minding that it was a long walk and his car was trashed. He was grateful to be alive, hard as his life was, and grateful to feel the wind on his unmasked face. His costume had been ripped to shreds in the incident, when he finally got free of the webbing and got caught in the crossfire of glass shards while trying to protect the bystanders—a total loss. Spider-Man was going to have to lay low for a while, and Peter Parker had a lot of lost time with his adored wife to make up for.

Something in the street caught his eye. He peered at the black goo, slowly crawling on the pavement unnoticed—until now.

_Cindy Cypher's living armor,_ he thought, bending over to pick it up. _I could use something like this, especially with no costume._

In the laboratory of the CIA headquarters in Longmont, Virginia, Drs. Miles Warren and Nancy Melitta gazed upon the newest product of her ongoing experiment. That experiment was nearly destroyed by a previous version of that experiment, resulting in the death of the outmoded model and the destruction of the Manhattan laboratory. The loss was regrettable, but the clone was never of any use to the security interests of America anyway. Her death was no skin off their backs. The ruined Manhattan facility _was_, though, as was the obliteration of several years of research. Most fortunately though, the creation of the newest model was fully covered with private funding; a certain businessman-cum-supervillain had proved most generous with his money.

The newest version of the experiment was greatly improved on the first and second. First and foremost, his progenitor was a superhero, not prone to violence, madness, or criminality like the supervillain progenitors of the first and second. Those characteristics had shown most markedly in the second, even though as a female she was initially thought to be _less_ aggressive.

The new model lay on his stomach in the incubator. Dr. Melitta was meeting with William and Mary Reilly; the new model was now nine months old and soon to be placed with his adopted family. He had a shock of fuzzy light brown hair and crystal blue eyes. He was a beautiful baby, peaceful and serene. He was completely unaware of the immense power in his genes laying in wait until puberty, blissfully unaware of the curse that had weighed so heavily on the previous models. The second, especially, had had the intelligence to realize she was a monster, a doomed Creature created by man and not God. According to one small New York newspaper, the first had eventually realized that too; the paper carried an obituary of one Macendale Jackson. Cause of death: suicide. Gunshot to the head, as a matter of fact.

God created man on the sixth day, and eventually man developed Science and used Science to become modern-day gods. God made man in His image, and now man used Science to create baby gods in his image. With Science, man no longer needed God, no longer needed a Creator, to the peril of both God and man. With Science, man could not create gods; he could only create monsters.

But like the first and second models, the third bore the sign of his identity, the identity of his own progenitor, a modern-day mark of Cain, on his right shoulder blade: a tiny, dark brown image of a Spider.

Dr. Warren crooned the new model's name softly: "Benjamin…Benjamin, are you ready to meet your new mommy and daddy?"

**Finis**


	18. The Rest is Silence

Thank you to all the Loyal Minions who read and in some cases reviewed! The end of the Nature Versus Nurture series is at your fingertips. Happy reading!

Postscript

"_Give order that these bodies_

_High on a stage be placed to the view,_

_And yet let me speak to the yet unknowing world_

_How these things came about. So shall you hear_

_Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,_

_Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,_

_Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,_

_And in this upshot, purposes mistook_

_Fallen on the inventors' heads. All this can I_

_Truly deliver."_

_--_William Shakespeare,_ Hamlet_

At this point, if I were guided by purely literary considerations, this story would have ended here, but I am bound by promises I've made to remove the mask now and tell my readers that this is not only a _story_. It is also a _warning_.

Jordan Nicholas—obviously not her real name—hesitated at first on a venue to relate the events of the life and death of her best friend. She knew that there were "elements that control world affairs behind the scenes"—the puppet masters—and that they controlled media as well as government. If she tried to sell the story to a mainstream newspaper or television show, they would laugh her out of town, they who had successfully squashed all mention of the SDSI's secret scientific experiments, including the first successful cloning and genetic engineering of humans. The _Weekly World News_ was at first amenable to publishing the story, as they first broke the story of the SDSI's early experiments, "Jordan" said, but the mainstream reader—one of the "_sheeple_"—would never believe it, thanks to lifelong brainwashing from the puppet media and politicians.

That is where I come into the story. "Jordan" and I had been exchanging correspondence for quite a few months, both through email and message boards and web groups dealing with both conspiracy theory—"Jordan" had by then reposted her father's blog—and with a certain six-armed supervillain that we were both quite fond of.

I'd like to be modest, but it was I who first saw that our only chance was to publish as fiction what would never be listened to as fact. A systematic non-fictionalized report could still be given, of course, but not only would there be universal skepticism (at best) and disbelief (at worst), but it would certainly also result in a libel action from the scientist whom I gave the fictitious name "Melitta." "Dr. Melitta", I believe, is now the first woman to receive a Nobel Prize in Biology, and she is also, incredibly enough, a role model to millions of feminists and young girls. I also pointed out to "Jordan" that this could reach a wider public very quickly, and certainly reach a great many people sooner than "Melitta." Besides, if it were "fiction," it would never pose a serious threat to the Illuminati, because of course fiction is regarded to be by definition false. Still, there would be indications enough in the narrative for the very few readers who wished to look further into the matter.

I have changed virtually all the names of the persons involved, both for turning fact into fiction and for their privacy as well. The exceptions to the rule are Peter Parker, who at the time of publishing has publicly revealed his superhero identity, as well as Dr. Otto Octavius, Norman Osborn and other characters generally recognizable to the readers of Marvel Comics, old hands at fictionalizing too-strange-to-be-true-but-still-are events.

"Octavia" is also not the real name of "Jordan's" friend and the heroine of the story. Her adopted parents, whom I gave the most generic names to, gave her another name. I simply thought, for purely literary concerns, the name was supremely appropriate for the female clone of _Octavius_. The names of "Jordan's" friends, close family, and acquaintances, such as "Daisy" and "Brittany", have also been altered, though "Morgan", believe it or not, really _is _named after his mother's favorite actor, who is in real life frequently mentioned in the celebrity tabloids. Although only Otto has my heart, I can still observe in the glossy magazine photos why "Melissa" loves him.

The substance of the story and all of the major events are true, as I promised "Jordan". However, she has been a bit displeased with the final product, although I explained that I had to have a certain amount of embellishment, just for literary considerations, to make a more thrilling and readable story. She understands and is glad that the series is quite popular.

I happen to be very well-read, and I have always brought my knowledge of literature, science, and psychology to my work. However, "Jordan" knew that in a few previous stories I wrote, I brought up the issue of the "nature versus nurture" dilemma in regards to super villainy. In those four stories, which my readers are already quite familiar with, I set up two contrasting portraits of the children of two supervillains, one raised by his mother without the influence of his villainous father and later became a superhero, and one raised by her villainous grandfather and followed in his footsteps. Jordan gave those stories a favorable review and suggested I continue with that angle.

At this point I must reiterate that this story is a _warning_. I can no longer remain silent—and as "Jordan" has said, "Who do they think they are, that they may silence me, silence my father, silence my best friend?" I fear that the type of genetic engineering described in these three stories is quickly leading humanity down a slippery slope with only impaling slivers at the bottom. The very fabric of human nature is at stake because of psychopaths that meddle with creativity in ways it should never be meddled with. The last time eugenic action was attempted on such a scale it lead to a holocaust—_the_ Holocaust—and today's Josef Mengeles have 21st century technology and knowledge of genetics on their side. Still continuing with the metaphor, what we need is today's Hannah Arendt, and "Jordan" serves the role admirably. I think "Anthony", looking down from Heaven, is very proud of his daughter, who has gladly tracked down various memos, newspaper clippings, and transcripts for me to include in the story at great personal risk. Her family is, sadly, still in some danger and probably closely monitored. I wish them only the best and hope the worst is behind them—and, as Hamlet said, _"The rest is silence."_

**Finis (No, really.)**


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